


Hold Fast

by Ripki



Series: Atlas of Our Ruin [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Feels, Bad Decisions, Betrayal, Canon Divergence - Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, Complicated Relationships, Dark Anakin Skywalker, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epic Love, Fix-It of Sorts, Force Bond (Star Wars), Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, M/M, Mutual Pining, Order 66, Past Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Prophetic Dreams, Slash, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:40:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27011389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ripki/pseuds/Ripki
Summary: The Republic and the Jedi Order have fallen, people everywhere facing a dark future. His world shattered, Obi-Wan tries to change the fate of the whole galaxy – and not least because he cannot let go of the man he loves. But will Anakin hinder or help him?
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala & Anakin Skywalker
Series: Atlas of Our Ruin [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1088748
Comments: 229
Kudos: 274





	1. Prologue: Drowning

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go again! This is the fourth part of the (planned six-part) series and my attempt at ROTS au. Fair warning, there will be angst ahead, but also hope. This is a fix-it after all. Also, the tags and the rating may change.

Atlas of Our Ruin

You press your fingers against my skin

creating a map from the bloom of bruises.

With every gently traced line

you redraw the borders, make _us_ into

something new. 

\--

The water, dark and cold and heavy, dragged him under, pressed him mercilessly down to the deep. The earth-shattering shock of the canon blast – of _his_ _own men_ firing on him – reverberated through his bones, stole his breath and left him gasping water, the varactyl’s distressed cries still ringing in his ears.

His first coherent thought – _Anakin_. He reached for their bond, as his arms scrabbled around in the murky deep, trying to find the way to the surface, finding nothing; Anakin was too far away, the bond inactive and cold, _shut_ in a way it had never been, and Obi-Wan sank further down to the darkness of the sinkhole. Panic clawed at him, fought to override all reason and training. _Anakin_. _Cody_. _His men_.

Obi-Wan could not fathom, could not understand what had happened.

In the black, there were bright lights, like miniature explosions, flashing before his sight and then fading, going out. He was drowning. The Force was shaking with a seismic scream, with a collective cry of grief and anger and anguish that echoed in him, joining the silent one of his own.

He was drowning, and so were numerous others, brothers and sisters and friends, all suddenly snuffed out, their extinguished lives quivering in the Force, leaving behind only emptiness where light once shone, until there was a terrible tear, a chasm of lack. It _hurt_. Deep, deep down they all sank, drowning.

And still, Obi-Wan was not dead yet. And Anakin – whatever had happened, however closed their bond was – Anakin was not dead either. Obi-Wan would have known if it were so, he would _know_. Anakin lived and had asked Obi-Wan to come back – and Obi-Wan would.

Propelling himself upwards, where he thought the surface was, Obi-Wan concentrated all his strength and will on surviving, on finding air. On reaching Anakin.


	2. Part I: The Apprentice

[BEFORE]

He could still hear the children crying in distress, their heart-rending sobs echoing in the silent room. The image of Padmé’s face, twisted in anguish, with the sight of Obi-Wan sinking deeper into dark water, dissipated slowly in the waning daylight, the old fears lingering like lovers, slow to let go. But even as those cruel visions finally slackened their relentless hold, the crying persisted.

His children – others’ children – children he had killed.

Anakin shuddered and pressed his face against Obi-Wan’s pillow, breathing in the faint odour of the basic soap the GAR used, the hint of sapir tea, and the unique scent he always associated with his Master, but could never quite put into words. He could not dredge up any shame or guilt for sneaking into Obi-Wan’s rooms and resting on his bed. His Master might have raised his eyebrows had he known – and Anakin had no intention of telling him – but would not have truly minded it. After all, just last night, Anakin had slept in that very bed, in Obi-Wan’s arms, and had done something far less innocent besides.

He had hoped that the memory of that – of the taste of Obi-Wan, the way he had sounded and felt – would have been enough to settle his anxious heart and divert his restless thoughts away from baseless fears as he waited for any news of his Master. Anakin had not meant to fall asleep, to give into the ruthless nightmares that refused to give him any respite even in the one space he had always felt safe.

His commlink lay beside him, as silent as it had been for the past several hours. No word yet if Obi-Wan had located Grievous or even arrived on Utapau. No word if he was alright.

Feeling raw, like he would shatter out of his bones at any moment, Anakin concentrated on the bright warmth inside him; the gossamer strands of their bond were strong and vibrant and _alive_. And even if Obi-Wan was too far away for Anakin to follow, to reach him and see and hear and feel him, he was _there_. Just as he had promised.

And yet –

the commlink continued to be silent, even as the faint cries of children throbbed in Anakin’s ears.

\--

[NOW]

Whatever horrors Obi-Wan had imagined paled against the galaxy-shattering reality. He had believed he had seen everything possible in the service of the Republic, even before the war and certainly during it. After learning from Bail what had happened at the Temple, Obi-Wan had steeled himself for what was to come, thinking himself ready to face the atrocities committed against his fellow Jedi.

How wrong he had been.

From the first sight of the thick black smoke still pouring out of the ancient building – _his home_ – Obi-Wan’s stomach turned, bile rising in his throat, heart twisting with bitter anger and sharp grief. And beneath it all was the immense worry for Anakin, surging more forcefully to the forefront of his mind, however relentlessly Obi-Wan tried to quell it. Where was he? Had Anakin confronted the clones? Had he escaped, was he hiding somewhere? Or had he been taken captive? Was that the reason their bond continued to be cold and _shut_?

The sick feeling of despair and disbelief only grew stronger as he entered the Temple with Master Yoda, seeing the evidence of the butchery in its every horrific detail. And yet his hands were steady as he drew his lightsaber, dispatching the clones they encountered. Although his heart protested against killing his former comrades-in-arms, his body blessedly took over, answering the threat efficiently, ruthlessly. Not unlike the clones, who just a mere day ago would have defended all the Jedi and the Temple itself with their lives, but who had somehow turned against them, slaughtering their commanders and generals with seemingly no compunctions.

It was deeply, terribly personal. It was a sorrow upon sorrow; another part of his life left in ruins; more people he cared about lost to him.

Obi-Wan still struggled to comprehend the magnitude of it all; how his own men – _Cody_ – had tried to kill him; how any clone could have done that which everything around him attested to. Blackened walls and cracked pillars, smashed statues and pools of blood. Bodies strewn around, left where they had fallen, eyes staring sightlessly ahead, horror still etched upon their faces.

And still, the worst was yet to come.

For not even the younglings had been spared.

From tall windows bright sunlight fell upon the scene, colouring everything golden: the knight laying on her side, arms still stretched towards her weapon; behind her, the group of small bodies, riddled with blaster marks. The killing of those too young to even wield a lightsaber was an unconscionable, unjustifiable crime that made it perfectly clear that the aim of the perpetrators was the utter annihilation of the Jedi Order.

“Killed not by clones this Padawan. By a lightsaber he was.”

Yoda’s words penetrated the fog of stunned grief, hitting Obi-Wan with yet another shock. The boy Yoda meant lay a few meters from the younglings, three dead clones around him. His padawan braid was short, barely coming under his ear; he couldn’t have yet been fifteen. Clearly, the boy had defended himself to the last, until he had been cut down with a saber. The familiar burn was obvious, a glaring sign that the clones had been accompanied – _led_ – by someone using the weapon of the Jedi and the Sith.

Obi-Wan knelt next to the boy, something horrendous clawing at his throat; a nameless, drowning dread. “Who? Who could have done this?”

As they continued deeper into the Temple, they encountered more Jedi that had been slain with a lightsaber – a Temple guard, an old master, a healer. Obi-Wan was selfishly glad none of them were younglings, nor were they someone he personally knew. It took all of his strength of will as it was to concentrate on the mission, to push back the tidal wave of anguish that demanded an outlet.

Finally, they reached the central security station, where the coded retreat message had been set up with the intention of luring any surviving Jedi to the deadly trap Coruscant had become – a message telling them to come home, that the war was over.

_It’s not over. It has only begun,_ Obi-Wan thought grimly and set about recalibrating the beacon, knowing they could be discovered at any moment. Hastily, he recorded a brief message, warning any survivors to run and hide. Somehow, he managed to keep his voice steady, despite the fact that everything in him still shook and ached. Obi-Wan wanted to give the possible survivors – _Force, let there be some, let one of them be Anakin_ – some hope, even though it was hard to find any; in the end he told them to trust in the Force. The words sounded hollow in his own ears.

His task finished, Obi-Wan moved to follow Yoda out of the room. However, at the last moment he hesitated, pausing at the entrance.

“Wait, Master. There is something I must know.” He moved resolutely to the console, to the one thing that could shed some light into just _who_ had been with the clones, taking part in the attack.

“If into the security recordings you go, only pain will you find.” Yoda sounded uncommonly defeated, like he already knew what Obi-Wan would see.

“I must know the truth, Master.” Obi-Wan _had_ to, although some part of him was begging him to stop, to not look, to just leave –

He rewound the recording, until there was a glimpse of the familiar white armour. He watched as the soldiers shot indiscriminately at both those trying to put up a desperate defence and those trying to flee, and among them all – _with_ the clones, attacking the Jedi – a figure in dark cloak, wielding a blue lightsaber. Obi-Wan knew immediately it was Anakin. He also knew it _couldn’t_ be Anakin.

“It can’t be. It can’t be.” The denial was torn from his throat unconsciously, even as Obi-Wan continued to watch as Anakin cut down a fellow knight, how he kneeled in front of a hologram of a hooded figure.

_You have done well, my new apprentice. Now, Lord Vader, go and bring peace to the Empire._

With a cold numbness that made even the simple task of moving his fingers difficult, Obi-Wan switched off the recording, unable to continue to watch the unfolding nightmare. The image vanished, leaving behind only emptiness.

“Destroy the Sith we must,” Yoda said, certain and decisive and wholly unafraid. Like the true Grand Master of the Jedi he was. Obi-Wan just wanted to weep and wail and deny. He knew what came next and already his heart repelled against it.

He stepped up next to his old teacher, begging, “Send me to kill the Emperor. I will not kill Anakin.”

“To fight this Lord Sidious, strong enough you are not.”

Obi-Wan knew it was true, but he would have gladly tried it nonetheless, not caring if he died facing the Sith Lord. Anything other than fighting – killing – Anakin. He pleaded again, knowing already it was futile, “He is my – he is…” But he could not express what Anakin was to him, not there, not then. Not surrounded by the ruins of their fallen Order, not to Master Yoda. He settled for a lesser truth. “He is like my brother. I cannot do it. I _will_ not do it.”

Yoda’s gaze was sad, but none the sharper for it. “Twisted by the dark side young Skywalker has become. The boy you trained, gone he is. Consumed by Darth Vader.”

Yes, the boy Obi-Wan had trained was gone – was the man he loved gone too? It certainly seemed so, and still everything in him was protesting, screaming against Yoda’s order. “I do not know where the Emperor has sent him. I don’t know where to look,” he tried feebly, a last-ditch attempt to change the horrendous fate that loomed ahead of him.

But Yoda could not be swayed or fooled by such a pathetic excuse. “Use your feelings, Obi-Wan, and find him you will.”

And so, the matter was decided. They parted ways near the sublevel hangar, Obi-Wan wondering if he was ever going to see the old Master again. Surely, if anyone, it was Yoda who could defeat the Sith Lord. And Obi-Wan would – he too would do what he must.

Yoda had been right; Obi-Wan knew where to start his hunt. Anakin loved Padmé, and even if he didn’t care about anyone else – _Obi-Wan_ – anymore, he would have made sure she was alright. It was highly likely that Padmé knew where Anakin had gone.

He searched the hangar for a suitable transport, but they had all been blown up, leaving the machines twisted, some of them badly charred, only their bare metal skeletons still standing. Looking at the destroyed ships and speeders, he thought, _Anakin would be pissed_ – and then it truly hit him, a terrible ache cleaving him in half, robbing him of breath.

Anakin had done it. He had done it all. His Anakin.

A tiny part of Obi-Wan still could not believe it, did not want to believe it, although it was the indisputable truth. And it – Force help him, _this_ was the worst thing: Anakin turning, Anakin killing his fellow Jedi, Anakin kneeling at the feet of a Sith. It was the thing that finally made Obi-Wan’s knees buckle, made him slump to the floor, heaving and panting, tearing a terrible keening sound from deep within him. The thing that shattered what remained of his heart.

_I should have sunk to the bottom of that sinkhole, died with my brethren. It would have been infinitely better than this._

The sudden, fleeting thought was unworthy of all Obi-Wan had ever been and believed in; a betrayal of all those who had been killed, who had fought so hard to live, to protect their companions and friends, their brothers and sisters. The younglings.

Giving up was not an option. It never had been for Obi-Wan, and it wasn’t now, not even when he felt like he was still in the dark water, drowning, the surface nowhere in sight. He would do whatever he could to oppose the Sith, to fight against the new Empire, to uphold the values of the Republic, to follow the way of the Jedi, the will of the Force. Even if it meant facing Anakin – or what he had become. _Lord Vader_.

It was his duty as a Jedi.

_But what about my duty as a friend, a brother – a lover?_

Maybe, if he could just talk to Anakin, reach him through their bond, perhaps he could – perhaps Anakin could turn back, maybe he was not fully gone. But self-delusions had never suited him; Obi-Wan knew that it was just a desperate wish, all but hopeless in the face of all he had seen. A childish desire to wind time backwards, undo everything that had gone so disastrously wrong.

Selfishly, Obi-Wan wanted more time. He and Anakin, they had had such little time to truly be together. He _needed_ more time.

And suddenly it hit him; that was the answer – _time_.

It could have been the Force whispering, or perhaps it was merely his own soul, desperately grasping at any other option than the one he had tried to steel himself to face. Truthfully, it did not matter where the idea came from, only that it did. Obi-Wan could finally see the road clearly, and although it was fraught with risk and uncertainty and most likely his own demise, it was still the only way he could go.

For any other future was better than this.


	3. Part II: The Master

[BEFORE]

“Chancellor. We have just received a report from Master Kenobi. He has engaged General Grievous.” The news that had finally come hadn’t eased the anxiousness of the wait, but magnified it, squeezing Anakin’s insides with impotent fear; he could not stop seeing the images from his nightmares. _Obi-Wan, being shot at. Obi-Wan, falling from a great height. Obi-Wan, lost to Anakin for ever._

Chancellor Palpatine’s expression shifted into one of worry. “We can only hope Master Kenobi is up to the challenge.”

“I should be there with him.” It was a truth Anakin knew deep in his bones – they needed to face the enemy together. It was frustrating and maddening that the Council still could not acknowledge that he and Obi-Wan worked best side by side, but kept separating them, brushing Anakin’s concerns aside, dismissing him like he was an unruly child. 

The Chancellor, always seeming to know the direction of Anakin’s thoughts, remarked regretfully, “It’s upsetting to me to see that the Council doesn’t seem to fully appreciate your talents. Don’t you wonder why they won’t make you a Jedi Master?”

“I wish I knew.” The question dragged forth all the doubt, the indignation, the anger he felt for the Jedi Council. Restless, Anakin paced in front of his old friend, finding himself confessing something he had not dared to even tell Obi-Wan. “More and more I get the feeling that I’m being excluded from the Council. I know there are things about the Force that they’re not telling me.”

Palpatine looked at him with pity, with _understanding_ that cut Anakin to his core. “They don’t trust you, Anakin.” He rose up from his chair, laying a gentle hand on Anakin’s shoulder, leading him out of the grey office to the more richly decorated antechamber. “They see your future. They know your power will be too strong to control. You must break through the fog of lies the Jedi have created around you. Let me help you to know the subtleties of the Force.”

“How do you know the ways of the Force?” Heart thudding violently, Anakin knew that _something_ was happening. He felt suddenly like a prey in the lair of a beast, the crimson walls and ancient relics on display boxing him in.

“My mentor taught me everything about the Force. Even the nature of the dark side.”

The words were a complete surprise, and yet also somehow perversely _not_ , leaving Anakin only to numbly ask, “You know the dark side?”

“Anakin, if one is to understand the great mystery, one must study all its aspects, not just the dogmatic narrow view of the Jedi. If you wish to become a complete and wise leader, you must embrace a larger view of the Force,” Palpatine continued calmly, sounding so _reasonable_ , like what he was saying was not upending Anakin’s whole world at all. “Be careful of the Jedi, Anakin. Only through me, can you achieve a power greater than any Jedi. Learn to know the dark side of the Force, and you will be able to save your wife – and your children – from certain death.”

“What did you say?” Anakin could not believe what he was hearing, what his mentor – _Sith_ – was saying, how did he – _Padmé_ –

“ _I know_. I know everything,” Palpatine said, his eyes burning through Anakin, seeing into his very soul. Anakin knew he was telling the truth. “You can too – use my knowledge. I beg you.”

Anakin drew his lightsaber, igniting it. Blood was rushing in his ears in tandem with hot anger, making him light-headed. Another betrayal, another person trying to twist him to serve their own end. “You’re the Sith Lord.” He kept the tip of the saber pointed at Palpatine’s throat, but the old man didn’t seem concerned. It was clear he was not afraid of Anakin.

“I know what’s been troubling you. Listen to me. Don’t continue to be a pawn of the Jedi Council,” Palpatine beseeched him. “Ever since I’ve known you, you’ve been searching for a life greater than that of an ordinary Jedi. A life of significance, of conscience.” And even though Anakin still held his weapon pointed at him, Palpatine turned away from him, as though certain that Anakin would not harm him. “Are you going to kill me?”

“I would certainly like to.” The man he had believed to be his friend and mentor since he had been just a boy had deceived everyone – had deceived _him_. Nothing was as Anakin had thought it to be, everything twisting and turning upside down.

“I know you would,” Palpatine whispered, sounding pleased. “I can feel your anger. It gives you focus, makes you stronger.” The Chancellor – _the Sith_ – turned around, facing Anakin again. “I know you Anakin. You want peace. The Jedi can’t end this war, they only bring more conflict with their arrogance, with their want for power.”

Anakin, not knowing what to think, of what to do, fell back on the one thing he knew he _should do_. He shut down his lightsaber and trying to sound confident, told Palpatine, “I am going to turn you over to the Jedi Council.”

“Of course. You should. But you’re not sure of their intentions, are you? Even that of Kenobi –”

“No,” Anakin denied quickly, sharply.

He _loathed_ Palpatine’s soft, sympathetic voice, the old man’s concerned expression. “He will always choose the Jedi, you know this. Even if it means Padmé’s, your children’s lives.”

“No,” he denied again, weaker. He hated that some part of him thought that Palpatine was right.

“But you can save Padmé and your children – and bring peace to the galaxy. Anakin, this is your destiny, to save the galaxy from the madness it has turned into.”

“I won’t betray the Jedi – or the Republic,” Anakin insisted, heart still beating madly, thoughts running wildly in circles. How could he ensure that nothing would happen to Padmé and the children she still carried inside her?

“You know the Republic will tear itself apart. Only strength will stop the killing,” Palpatine said mournfully, looking and sounding just like the mentor Anakin had thought him to be, making it still hard to fathom that in front of him stood the Sith Lord they had searched for so long.

Anakin turned to go, but even when he was far out of the cage of crimson walls, from the murkiness of the Senate building, Palpatine’s voice continued to pound in his ears, hammering his last words deep into Anakin’s unsettled heart.

_You have great wisdom, Anakin. Take the strength only the power of the dark side can give you. The strength to save those you love._

\--

[NOW]

The Holocron Vault remained locked shut; the clones hadn’t managed to force their way in, and only the members of the Jedi Council knew the passcode. Obi-Wan had no doubt that the Sith – _Anakin_ – would break in sooner rather than later, but all that mattered was that they hadn’t yet. Obi-Wan still had a chance. A chance to change everything.

The doors slid open without a sound, the automatic lights in the chamber lighting up. Obi-Wan stepped into the place that held all the important knowledge of his destroyed Order; for a moment he felt an overwhelming desire to gather it all up, to save it from the greedy clutches of the Sith, from their corrupting evil. But that was not his mission, and if he succeeded, then it didn’t matter what happened in the chamber after he left. With luck, it never would happen at all.

_Luck_ – Obi-Wan had told Anakin numerous times that there was no such thing as luck, but now he needed it badly, that and more. He could not control the jumps, and there weren’t any guarantees that the holocron would even work the same way it had before. Time travel would surely start to rip him apart again, scattering him into atoms before long; nonetheless, he had to try. Obi-Wan had to hope, had to trust in the Force, that the device would bring him to a place and a time, where he could do something to change the horrible present, to save the Jedi and the Republic – and Anakin.

On a pedestal, in the middle of the room, glowed their possible salvation; even inactive, the crystalline cube seemed to pulse faint white light. Such a little thing that held immense power, and the means to mend more than a broken heart. Obi-Wan remembered the yank and the tearing pain of the transition, but now that memory paled in comparison with how he currently felt.

Resolute, Obi-Wan took a step towards the holocron. And stopped, for behind him –

“ _Obi-Wan_.”

Heart missing a beat, Obi-Wan turned quickly around, devastated anew with what he saw. “Anakin.”

For a small moment – an eternity – neither of them spoke, silently measuring each other up. Obi-Wan’s former Padawan looked terrible; face pale and drawn, hair plastered to his forehead in a matted tangle, eyes sunken and red-rimmed. The brilliant blue of Anakin’s irises was muted, framed with awful sickly yellow.

Desperately, Obi-Wan tried to find some sign that Anakin was still the man he knew – the man he loved – but their bond was as cold and shut as it had been since that horrific moment on Utapau. A dark misery, bottomless and deadly, radiated from Anakin, twisting his face into a mockery of his handsome features. And his eyes – with a pang, Obi-Wan noticed the pain in them, and maybe there was something soft in there too, fathomless grief and longing, an appeal for –

But then Anakin’s gaze shifted to where Obi-Wan’s hand rested on his lightsaber, and his eyes narrowed, expression hardening. “What are you doing here?” His voice was flat, horribly emotionless.

“What am _I_ doing? What are _you_ doing?” Obi-Wan snapped, mind in turmoil. So far, the confrontation he had so dreaded hadn’t gone anything like he had expected nor hoped. The hot flash of anger that had took over him bled quickly into sorrow, into a yearning need to just understand, making his next question quiver in the air with all the despair Obi-Wan felt. “ _Why?_ Why would you do this?”

Anakin’s eyes flicked to the side, away from Obi-Wan, his mouth thinning. “You won’t understand.”

“Then make me understand!” Obi-Wan yelled hoarsely. “Because I cannot fathom what could have possibly happened to make you – Anakin, you attacked the Temple, you killed Jedi, you killed _a boy_ –”

“ _Stop!_ ” Anakin took a sharp, agitated stride towards Obi-Wan, his anger flaring up and rushing forward, the flames licking Obi-Wan, threatening to scorch him. “I don’t have time for this. Get out of my way.” Pointedly, Anakin lay his leather-clad hand on his saber.

“Or what?” Obi-Wan asked, steeling himself. Although his insides were clenched in dread, training and self-preservation made him survey the scene dispassionately; the distance between them, all the possible hindrances in the room, the familiar way Anakin’s large frame tensed. They were both readying themselves for a fight. But unlike in their innumerable sparring matches before, the stakes were now immensely higher. The fate of the whole Republic hung in the balance; against that both of their lives were insignificant. And yet Obi-Wan ached from the thought that the one being he had trusted above all else to guard his back would truly try to hurt him, and that _he_ would have to harm Anakin, whom he had sworn to protect.

“I will do what I have to.” Anakin’s voice sounded hollow, but Obi-Wan recognized his former Padawan’s customary single-mindedness in the flinty look, in the grim expression. No reasoning, no appeals could penetrate Anakin’ obstinate belief that he was in the right.

Anakin’s eyes settled briefly to the side, towards the pedestal, and Obi-Wan was more conscious than ever of the time-travel device in the middle of the room. His mouth pulled into a derisive line. “So, you have come to take the holocron to the Emperor. I should have known that your new Master is just itching to get his hands on it.”

The accusation seemed to startle Anakin momentarily out of his cold resolve. “No! No, I – I am not giving it to _him_. I am going to use it and make everything better –”

“What? You are going to use the holocron?” Obi-Wan barked humourlessly, completely thrown by Anakin’s words. What a sad joke that they were both trying to get the same thing. “No, _you_ are not. I am doing it.”

“No, you can’t!” The yellow in Anakin’s eyes flared suddenly brighter, the dark around him pulsing with despondent rage. “I have to do it! You can’t ruin it – I won’t let you!”

“You won’t let me?” Obi-Wan repeated quietly, dangerously.

“Only I can do it – the holocron will tear you apart, you are not strong enough, and you don’t know what to change –” Despair twisted Anakin’s face into a pained expression that even now continued to affect Obi-Wan; it, coupled with the faltering and panicked tone of his voice, tugged at Obi-Wan’s heart, reaching deep where a small measure of hope still held out – a fool’s hope.

“And you do?” Obi-Wan interrupted him incredulously. “Anakin – you _fell_. There is darkness all around you.” Even if a part of him – the one that hoped – was overjoyed that Anakin seemed to want to change at least some of what had happened, another part of him – the realistic one – feared what his motives, intentions truly were. Was Anakin trying to get more power through the holocron? Did he seek to depose the Sith Master, only to take his place?

“Obi-Wan, I need to do it,” Anakin pleaded, and in that moment, he sounded so like _his_ Anakin that Obi-Wan wanted to cry. “I _promise_ , I am going to fix everything. Let me just fix it.”

And Obi-Wan wanted to, Force help him, he wanted to trust Anakin more anything. But he couldn’t. For it did not matter what he wanted; it never had.

“I don’t believe you.” It hurt to say, but it was the truth.

“Then you are against me.” Anakin’s quiet, bitter words felt like the definite end of everything they had ever been to each other; even turning back time would never erase them.

Focused entirely on Anakin, Obi-Wan sensed the warning in the Force almost too late. A squad of clones suddenly rushed into the chamber, and everything that followed happened in mere seconds: the soldiers pointed their weapons towards Obi-Wan, intent on firing; Obi-Wan knocked them to the ground with a violent Force push; Anakin lunged for the holocron; Obi-Wan followed, only a step behind him.

In the last possible moment, he grasped Anakin hard by the arm, just as Anakin snatched the holocron and _reached_ with the Force, turning and twisting the time-travel device open. There was the familiar blinding, pulsing light; there was no time for anything else but to hold on, hold on fast to Anakin as the galaxy lurched, and time and place shifted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The majority of the dialogue in the first part (Before) is from ROTS, so credit for that goes to the writes of the film script.


	4. Part III: The Generals

[BEFORE]

With fortuitous coincidence or by the steering of the Force – he knew which one Obi-Wan would have believed – Anakin ran straight into Mace Windu, having just haphazardly parked his speeder, the machine’s heated engine still winding down. The councillor was striding decidedly across the hangar towards a gunship, Kit Fisto, Agen Kolar and Saesee Tiin following closely behind. 

“Master Windu!” Anakin’s anxious voice made Windu stop in his tracks; he gestured for his companions to go on, while he himself faced Anakin with his usual impenetrable expression.

“Skywalker,” Master Windu remarked dryly, casting a frowning look upon Anakin’s windswept hair and reddened cheeks. Anakin had no doubt that his distressed physical appearance matched his presence in the Force. He was still reeling from Palpatine’s confession, from the horrible truth, from the acute threat to all he held closest to his heart; falling freely, without any control, wind rushing in his ears like hissed words.

_take the strength – the power – save the ones you love_

“Has there been any word from Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked breathlessly. He wanted badly his Master’s advice, his wisdom, his support – most of all, his trust and belief in Anakin. He _needed_ to talk to Obi-Wan.

Windu shook his head, looking troubled. “No. We haven’t been able to establish contact with the 212th since their last transmission. The enemy must be jamming their communications.”

Anakin’s heart dropped, a sinking feeling dragging everything to the murky deep. Obi-Wan was in trouble, in danger. All of Anakin’s nightmarish visions were coming true.

“We are on our way to apprise the Chancellor of the situation.” Mace’s sharp eyes pierced Anakin, assessing and seeking. Anakin glanced towards the gunship, where the three Jedi were waiting; it did not take four Masters to inform Palpatine of news from the front. Windu followed Anakin’s gaze and continued quietly, “I sense a deep darkness – it has grown ever pervasive and surrounds Chancellor Palpatine; when Grievous is destroyed he must give up the emergency powers immediately. I intent to… _dissuade_ him from any further delay.”

Anakin had a mad urge to laugh – if only they knew! And know they must, that was clear enough. He took a deep breath, realizing that everything would change following his next words. “He won’t give up his power. I have just learned a terrible truth – I think Chancellor Palpatine is the Sith Lord.”

“A Sith Lord?” In any other circumstance, Anakin would have been delighted in managing to shock Master Windu. The stern adversary of his childhood, the cutting critic of his youth, the distant councillor that he rarely saw eye to eye with, was clearly utterly stunned. Mace had been distrustful of Palpatine for a long time, but even he had not imagined the true depths of the Chancellor’s depravity.

“Yes. The one we have been looking for.” Again, it struck Anakin anew, cutting him bitterly: _Palpatine_ was the Sith Lord. The grandfatherly man, who had cared about him, who had listened to him, who had believed in him. It had all been a lie – hadn’t it?

The Force quivered around Master Windu with a high, strung out note of alarm. “How do you know this?”

_He told me_ , Anakin could have said. _He asked me to join him_. Instead, he told Mace, “He knows the ways of the Force. He has been trained to use the dark side.”

“Are you sure?” Windu didn’t need to explain that to accuse the Chancellor of the Republic of being an evil mastermind would not go well in many quarters, if any. Palpatine had entrenched himself deep into the core of the Republic’s power; nay, he _was_ the power. Many were loyal to him, and many more depended upon him. With growing unease, Anakin realized that perhaps the Jedi didn’t outnumber the Sith after all.

“Absolutely,” Anakin swore, although he didn’t really have to convince Windu – he could see the steely, resigned certainty in the other man’s eyes.

“Then our worst fears have been realized. We must move quickly, if the Jedi Order is to survive.” Mace strode forward, Anakin hastily following suit. The Force around the councillor had changed; now it sang with a determined tone, heralding a gathering storm, reminding those that had forgotten that Master Windu was a dangerous man to his enemies.

Anakin’s pulse quickened. The situation was fast careening towards disaster, what little control he had left evaporating. “Master, the Chancellor is very powerful. You need my help if you are going to arrest him.”

“For your own good, stay out of this affair,” Windu ordered bluntly. “I sense a great deal of confusion in you, young Skywalker. There is much fear that clouds your judgement.”

“I _must_ go,” Anakin stressed, desperate. He needed to make sure that Palpatine would be taken into custody alive, that the Sith could be persuaded to reveal everything – how Anakin could save Obi-Wan, Padmé, his children. He must – _he must!_

True to form, Master Windu was quick to deny him. “ _No_. If what you have told me is true, you’ll gain my trust. But for now, remain here. Wait in the Council Chambers until we return.” Mace stepped into the waiting gunship, Anakin’s dread surging like a tsunami after him.

There was nothing to be done, but to acquiescence with gritted teeth. “Yes, Master.”

\--

[NOW]

The blinding white seared and throbbed and tore endlessly, until finally there was something else; a hard surface beneath him, cracked concrete supporting his aching bones. Memory returned with a fresh rush of despair, and Obi-Wan forced the physical pain aside, scrambling to get up, hand already on his lightsaber. There was no telling what – _who_ – he would have to face.

Anakin stood a few meters away from him, face twisted into a stormy grimace. His gaze roamed over Obi-Wan like the eyes of a predator in a dark.

Obi-Wan met his old Padawan’s look head-on as he drew himself to his full height, refusing to show how much every muscle and tendon hurt. Although the majority of him was focused on Anakin, Obi-Wan took in their surroundings with interest: grey, uniform buildings surrounded them, boxing them inside a small square with a few trees, the place otherwise empty, illuminated by faint street-lights.

“Why did you have to do it? Why can’t you just trust me?” Anakin said hoarsely, his voice echoing oddly against the stone walls.

“I watched you butcher Jedi. Trust is in short supply at the moment,” Obi-Wan remarked acidly, bitterness lacing his words.

Anakin stiffened, face smoothing into a mask of impassiveness that didn’t fool Obi-Wan for a moment. The Force twirled darkly around Anakin, fed by his agitation and anger. “Suit yourself. Do what you will, just stay out of my way.”

He turned to go and Obi-Wan hastened to follow. He had no intention of letting Anakin out of his sight, free to wreak havoc, for Force only knew what his former apprentice’s twisted mind had planned. “And what do you intend to do? What is your aim here? Just to remind you, we cannot control the jumps or how long we are going to stay in one place and time.”

The holocron seemed to be working as before; the cube had been left behind as they had been flung to a time and place that still remained a mystery to Obi-Wan. Obviously, on this occasion the jumps were different, for they most certainly were not in Naboo’s Lake Country. Making matters infinitely more difficult, there was no way to predict where the holocron would take them next.

Anakin whirled around, disdain dripping from his every word. “And what is _your_ plan? To be torn apart by the holocron, while you wait to be transported into a perfect moment and place to carefully, _peacefully_ change the fate of the Jedi?”

Truth be told, Obi-Wan had no elaborate or far thought out plan, just a compulsion, _a desire_ , to do his utmost to change everyone’s – the man in front of him included – fate, with _any_ means necessary. He opened his mouth to tell Anakin just that, when a thud of boots halted him.

In unison, they turned to face a pair of clones, who stepped into the square from one of the three roads leading into it. With an instinctual movement hardwired into their synapses, Anakin and Obi-Wan drew closer to one another, settling seamlessly into their old places, ready for action. The familiar ease of the motion now edged on painful, a cruel reminder of what had been.

“Hey, you there!” One of the clones shouted, something in his tone of voice – clearly filtered through a helmet’s vocoder – sounding slightly off. “You are breaking the curfew.”

“Ah, we are terribly sorry,” Obi-Wan said placatingly. Beside him, Anakin was motionless, but the sharpness in the Force revealed he was ready for immediate, explosive action. “My friend here is feeling unwell, and we were seeking a doctor.”

“No one is allowed to be outside at night.” There wasn’t even a hint of sympathy in the clone’s voice – if he indeed was a clone at all. Obi-Wan was beginning to very much doubt his initial assessment, and not least because the men in front of him didn’t _feel_ like the clones he had become familiar with. Besides, while the white plastoid armour could at first glance be mistaken as clone armour, it was different in many respects. For one, it lacked any distinguishing colour or marks.

“Our mistake to be sure.” Obi-Wan slowly raised his hands, as if to pacify the situation. He gathered the Force to his aid, seeking the minds of the soldiers, ready to bend their will, alter their memories. It was time to find out where and when they were.

But, as usual, all of Obi-Wan’s careful intentions were quickly shot to pieces, when Anakin decided he was done waiting. The moment one of the men raised his blaster rifle a little higher, Anakin’s lightsaber sprang to life, the sudden blue glow and accompanying hiss like a scream breaking the silence. The soldiers certainly were taken aback, their shock and fear ringing deafeningly in the Force.

“ _Jedi!_ ”

Anakin rushed towards the men, blocking badly aimed blaster shots; with two brutal slashes of saber the soldiers were dead, the Force empty and cold, where the warm beat of their lives had just been.

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan barked, furious. “That was hardly necessary.”

Anakin did not say anything, staring at the crumbled bodies clad in white armour. Obi-Wan shivered, reining in his own anger and fear. They were too exposed in the square, in a place and time they knew nothing about. They needed to find shelter, somewhere to regroup and take stock of the situation. In short, they needed to act like the Jedi, or at least like the Generals they had been. And they had to do it together.

Forcing himself to lay aside his many misgivings, Obi-Wan took a deep breath and said coolly, “For the moment, it is in both of our interest to work together. We’ll have a better chance at succeeding.”

Anakin finally lifted his gaze from the dead men, his eyes easily piercing Obi-Wan. He grinned slyly. “You mean you don’t trust me to not kark it all up.”

There were plenty of choice words Obi-Wan could have said, but for the sake of the fragile truce that was forming between them, he opted to stay silent.

Anakin’s mirthless grin morphed into a small, melancholy twist of lips. “That’s fine; I wouldn’t trust me either.”

\--

It did not take long to get the lay of the land. The town they had ended up was fairly small, comprised of similar grey stone buildings as in the square. It was also seemingly empty, the atmosphere a mix of careful caution and subdued dismay, undoubtedly due to the curfew and the handful of soldiers patrolling the streets. Even in the dim lighting of the street lamps, it was clear the town was well-kept and clean, its prosperous days not that far off in the past. However, the martial law had clearly already snuffed the residents’ spirit, taking over the town, the most glaring evidence being the posters and banners lining the walls of every building.

_Explore the galaxy – join the Imperial navy!_

_Report sedition – if you see something, say something!_

_Observe the curfew – only criminals sneak in the dark!_

_Production or destruction – the Empire needs bronzium to protect you!_

_The Empire_ – Palpatine’s dictatorship, the new Sith Empire – was everywhere present, its six-spoked crest, a bastardized version of the symbol of the Republic, wrenching Obi-Wan’s heart. How could they have been all so blind to let the Republic be destroyed from the inside? How could they have let Palpatine twist and manipulate them like puppets? It was clear now that the Sith Lord’s plans had been decades in the making, that pieces had been set and moved on a giant chessboard long before any of them had been even aware what they were taking part in. All of it created a massive challenge – just how much he would have to change? How far back into the past would he need to go?

However, in the time and place Obi-Wan now found himself, those questions were irrelevant. They had ended up in the future, and there was nothing to do but to find a safe place to wait for the next jump. Knowing now what they faced, it was easy to avoid the soldiers, who certainly weren’t as sharp and alert as the clones. Although Obi-Wan feared that would change drastically once the dead men would be discovered. He had an inkling that lightsaber wounds would be reason enough for alerting the highest levels of the Empire.

They found shelter on the outskirts of the town, in a large warehouse. A closer inspection of its wares at last revealed the _where_ and the _when_ : they were on Nubia, in one of the planet’s small mining towns, ten years into the future. The Empire had obviously seized control of the resource rich planet with an iron fist, having stationed troops even into towns that wouldn’t normally merit much attention.

Obi-Wan settled himself on the hard floor, leaning against an equally hard wall. In any other circumstances, he would have tried to meditate, to settle his turbulent mind and prepare himself for the next tearing transition through time. However, he could not let down his guard, could not relax even minutely; it was not the soldiers he was particularly worried about, but the man sitting some way away from him.

Anakin had chosen to rest against a large crate, leaving plenty of space between them. In the dimness of the room, his features were hidden in shadows, dark clothes merging with the darkness. And yet, his lightsaber was in full view, the hilt gleaming – a warning and a reminder. With that weapon, Anakin had killed their brethren, murdered the old and the young. It seemed perverse that Obi-Wan wasn’t trying to take it from him.

Did Obi-Wan fear that his former apprentice would attempt to kill him? No – he did not. Obi-Wan knew he should have, but although he was wary of Anakin’s motives and plans, he did not think Anakin aimed to kill him. Firstly, he would have done so already. Secondly, Obi-Wan did not sense that intent from him. Plenty of people had tried to kill Obi-Wan, and those people all had one thing in common: a pungent, cold purpose, which could be telegraphed days in advance or just before the striking blow. Anakin lacked that – at least for the moment.

And thirdly – against every rational thought, everything he had ever learned about the Sith – he could not believe that the man who had confessed his love for Obi-Wan so ardently, so earnestly, the man that Obi-Wan _knew_ with utter certainty had loved him just a few days ago, could kill him. Surely Anakin’s hate hadn’t yet swallowed his love?

Obi-Wan tried to carefully prod the Force around Anakin, seeking to reach inside the shields that hid his thoughts and feelings. His former Padawan’s mind was tightly closed, instantly rebuffing Obi-Wan’s attempts none too gently, and only a general sense of anger and anxiety slipped between them like wisps of smoke.

“So, what’s the plan?” Anakin’s voice broke the heavy silence, so carefully nonchalant it was clearly a pretence.

“To stay out of sight and rest, if we are transported into the future.” That was simple enough. It was the past that would be complicated and dangerous to navigate. Obi-Wan paused, looking to put into words anything concrete. In the end, he settled for the obvious. “In the past – we must take every opportunity to thwart Palpatine’s schemes, to stop him from taking over.”

“We need to kill him,” Anakin snarled, the familiar cold purpose settling over him. His shields cracked just slightly, and Obi-Wan could sense that his wish to kill Palpatine was genuine, but it was rooted more in selfish rage than in pressing necessity. Even if Obi-Wan did not approve of the motive, he could not disagree with the action – killing the Sith Lord was clearly the main goal.

“Yes, the earlier the better.” If they could destroy Palpatine even before he rose to power, they could prevent so much – the creation of the clone army, the war, the numerous deaths that had followed. The Sith Lord would not be there in the disguise of a benevolent mentor, leading Obi-Wan’s young Padawan ever closer to dark paths. For surely, without Palpatine’s influence, Anakin would not fall.

Of course, killing the Sith Lord would be easier said than done. Even if they somehow ended up in the right time, would they be in the right place? Could they manage to locate Palpatine, not to mention get to him, before the holocron would transport them to somewhere else? And even if they succeeded in confronting him – were they strong enough to kill the master of the Sith?

Killing Palpatine, however important – however _satisfying_ – could not be their only aim.

“If the holocron works the same way as before, then we have nine jumps, the last one taking us back to where we started. Last time we were transported six times into the past and two into the future. Let’s hope that ratio stays the same.” Obi-Wan did not add that there were no guarantees that the time-travel device would operate the same – indeed, it was rather more likely that it would _not_.

“Eight chances – seven now,” Anakin said quietly, his eyes finding Obi-Wan’s unerringly in the dark. A grim resolution passed between them, tying their frayed edges together with a common purpose, forming a deadly pact. 

They both knew seven chances was pitifully, horribly insufficient. But they would make do – or die trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, some of the dialogue in the Before-section is from the ROTS movie. What do you think about Anakin's motives? Would you trust him?


	5. Part IV: The Source

[BEFORE]

The setting sun bled colour across the darkening horizon, a mix of fire and blood.

The minutes felt like hours, creeping ahead too slowly and yet all too quickly.

Anakin tried to meditate, attempted to follow that path into serenity he had taken with Obi-Wan so many times, his Master and him together, but the way was shut. The path crumbled beneath his efforts, vanishing like a mirage in the desert, elusive and mocking.

There was no peace, only chaos.

Anakin strived to reach Obi-Wan, tried to trace his Master’s presence through their bond, as he had done always, easy as breathing, but the link was blocked. The bright strands twined and twisted, coiled around themselves, an endless labyrinth, tangled and silent.

There was no solace, only emptiness.

Everywhere, there was darkness, ferociously hunting. It seeped through the Council Chamber walls; it spread out over Coruscant with groping, greedy fingers; it devoured system after system with bottomless hunger.

Anakin could _see_ it.

It was his men, blown up and bleeding out, all of them eventually nothing but KIA’s on a list. It was Padmé, pushing him away, leaving. It was the Temple, black and windowless in a barren, cruel land. It was the mutilated bodies strewn upon the cold sand, the screams of the children. It was Obi-Wan falling, sinking into dark water, gone. It was the desperate, fearful whispers in the night. It was his heart, alone.

_You cannot help him. You cannot help anyone. They will leave you._

Terror like he had never known before hounded him, horrible indecision gnawing at him. Right at that very moment, the Masters were confronting Palpatine. Were they strong enough to apprehend him? Could they make him order the Separatists to stand down? Could they end the war? With every passing second, more men died needlessly, mere puppets in a gruesome play. With every breath Anakin drew, Obi-Wan was closer to the nightmare, drowning, without air. They had no time left.

Insidious doubt tugged at him, fury festering deep within. There was no trusting Palpatine, but what if Padmé’s fate was truly tied with the Sith? What if only Palpatine knew how to save her and their children? Even the smallest chance – it had to be taken. Anakin had to make the devious bastard reveal all his knowledge. He had no time left.

_Wait_ , he had been ordered. _Hold on_ , he had been told. _Act like a Jedi._ And yet, Anakin had always known that the most important decisions he made, he would not make as a Jedi, but as a son, a friend, a brother, a husband, a lover – a father.

He could not wait passively, could not sit on the side-lines, when all of their destinies were decided. He could not leave the fate of those he loved to others, could not take the risk, not when he could do something, when he could yet save them.

He could not be too late. Not this time.

\--

[NOW]

They had hardly even spent an hour in the warehouse, when Obi-Wan felt the familiar _yank_ at the bottom of his stomach. He braced himself, but still the blinding, pounding wave dragged him under, stealing all the air from his lungs. It felt like drowning, like Utapau all over again.

Then he was spit back into the surface, gagging and heaving, agony splitting him apart. He fought it, gathering the Force around him into a shield, shutting some of the pain away with every hard-won breath. He could not be incapacitated, he had to get up –

“Obi-Wan?” A hand settled upon his shoulder, hesitant, yet grounding. Familiar. For a few seconds, he let himself draw strength and comfort from the touch. He let himself pretend that everything was as before, that they were on a regular mission and Anakin was only making sure he was fine. Just for a moment, everything was fine, the galaxy as it should be.

_It will be fine. It has to._

With that thought, Obi-Wan finally pushed himself up, dislodging Anakin’s hand in the process. Steeling himself, he locked away any hint of the nausea and ache that still turned his stomach inside out. He met Anakin’s eyes with a steady gaze. His former Padawan was frowning, his face drawn into the customary expression of troubled annoyance he always donned, when Obi-Wan did something he considered to be particularly reckless.

“Are you alright?” Anakin’s voice was quiet, careful.

Obi-Wan shot him a withering look. He was so far from _alright_ that he was in a whole different galaxy – they both were. He could still smell the smoke and the stench of battle; he could see the scorched walls of the Temple, the smashed artefacts, _the_ _bodies_. They would be forever printed on his memory, on his soul.

Anakin turned his face away.

“Where are we?” Obi-Wan took a closer look around him. The Nubian warehouse had changed into oddly similar surroundings. They were in a large, industrial space with metal grey walls, full of boxes and crates and other miscellaneous stuff. But instead of a storehouse, it was clearly a part of a docking bay. The far end of the hangar ended into black space; in front of the invisible magnetic field stood a couple of old freighters.

“You really don’t know where we are?” Anakin asked, eyeing the ships speculatively. “And we had such _fun_ here.”

With a jolt Obi-Wan realized he did recognize their surroundings. They were on the very same dock that Anakin had blown up the last time they had been on the Kwenn Space Station. _Let’s hope this time our visit goes differently._

“Well, yes, it’s all coming back to me now,” Obi-Wan muttered, mind already busily trying to figure out why the holocron had chosen to transport them to that particular place. The time they currently were in had to be the key.

In those months after their first time-traveling ordeal, Obi-Wan had sought to read as much about holocrons and space/time shifts as he could, which granted, had not amounted to a lot. As far as he could tell, their experience had been unprecedented, or at least other similar instances had not been well documented. It was one of the rare times that research had failed him. But he had first-hand experience, which in turn led him to _a_ _hunch_. 

When sleep had been slow to come, and Obi-Wan had lain on his bedroll staring at the night sky or the canvas of some tent, he had thought about how the holocron operated. Although it had seemed to flung them haphazardly from one place and time to another, it did not in fact work randomly. All the places and times – except maybe the tropical island – had held some meaning to either him or Anakin. Surely the same would hold true now as well? Albeit, he did not think that Nubia was very significant to either of them; Obi-Wan himself had been there only once before, on a very standard mission. But he theorized that the meaning wasn’t always apparent in a direct way, the connections perhaps more subtle. He wondered if the place itself hadn’t been what had been important, but the general atmosphere, the reality of the Empire.

No doubt then that Kwenn Space Station would have its own purpose too.

Hoods drawn up, they walked discreetly closer to the few dock workers, who were busy loading crates into one of the freighters. With some subtle Force suggestions, it was easy enough to ferret out the time of their current whereabouts. It turned out that they were in the past – nine months into it to be precise. Obi-Wan rummaged through his memory: where had they been then?

“The left one,” Anakin remarked suddenly, striding towards the smallest of the ships.

“What?” Obi-Wan followed him hastily, mind scrambling to catch up to Anakin’s mercurial thought process.

“It’s the best one of this lot – not very fast, but if we have enough time, it will take us to Coruscant –”

Obi-Wan grabbed hold of Anakin’s shoulder, halting him. “We are not stealing that ship.”

“We _need_ it –” Anakin wrenched himself free, pivoting around to face Obi-Wan with blazing eyes. “ _Palpatine_ is in Coruscant.”

“And yet we are here!” Obi-Wan hissed, trying to keep his voice low. “Think Anakin! The holocron brought us here for a reason.”

Mouth a thin line, jaw clenched tight, Anakin’s face was a sign of an approaching storm. Thankfully, he _was_ thinking, even though he clearly did not want to; Obi-Wan could see when the realization dawned on him. Nine months ago, they had been searching for the Separatist fleet in the Kalamith sector. It had been just before Bail had relayed to them the transmission that had contained the coordinates to the holocron.

“You better be right,” Anakin spat through clenched teeth and headed for the lifts.

\--

Obi-Wan was immensely relieved, not to mention quite astonished, when it turned out he was indeed right. 

_The Hairy Spacer_ looked as dingy and dodgy as the last time they had been there, and the same old Rodian bartender stood behind the counter, disinterestedly serving a shifty and scruffy looking clientele. Obi-Wan would not have been surprised if some of them were even the same patrons as the last time. What really mattered though, was that at the back of the dimly lit bar sat a familiar Pau’an male. Jem had not been lying then, when he had claimed the place was where he conducted his business.

Opposite him sat a lithe figure, clad in long black boots and a pilot’s leather suit. Although their face was completely covered by a brown-yellow mask, there was no mistaking the identity of the person. The Force was awash with her familiar ambivalent, ambiguous Force signature. Obi-Wan’s heart pounded faster; the holocron had truly lived up to his far-fetched speculation.

“ _Karking harpy_.” Anakin all but vibrated from pent-up tension, his eyes fixed intensely on Ventress.

“Wait –”

But of course, Anakin did not wait, striding further inside the bar without any attempt at subtlety whatsoever. It was clear he wasn’t going to listen to Obi-Wan again, not when a possible means of controlling the time-travel device was so close at hand.

Ventress stood abruptly from her seat, whirling to face them. It was impossible to miss Anakin’s thundering presence, the Force rushing and surging with his agitation and resolve, with his violent intent. Even those, who were not Force-sensitives, immediately took notice, their instincts screaming _danger_. As Anakin marched through the bar, Obi-Wan fast on his heels, the patrons watched them with wary eyes, shifting uneasily in their places. Some of them were already quickly heading for the exit. 

“Kenobi – Skywalker,” Ventress drawled, her body in a battle-stance, ready for a fight. Behind her, Jem looked to be frozen to his seat, staring at them all with apprehension. “Fancy seeing you here. I thought you had a war to win.” Despite her flippant words, Ventress sounded taken aback by their presence. No doubt she had had information that they were very much elsewhere.

“Unfortunately, this is not a social call,” Obi-Wan said dryly. Tension was tightening his muscles, straining every nerve; he was extremely aware of Anakin beside him – ominous and unpredictable – and of some customers – greedy and opportunistic – inching closer, reaching for their weapons. Hearing the names _Kenobi_ and _Skywalker_ had trumped any common sense they had, the thought of a hefty reward overriding their self-preservation.

“What a pity – I have missed your dulcet voice, all the righteous sermons.” Ventress tilted her head coyly, but Obi-Wan didn’t believe for a second that she wasn’t coldly assessing the situation behind her expressionless mask.

“ _Hey_ _Jedi_!” Unfortunately, one of the more foolish patrons had decided it was time to act; he drew his blaster, three of his companions following suit. “Drop your weapons – you too, bounty hunter.”

“Oh my,” Ventress purred, “how dreadfully suspenseful.”

Anakin turned to face the armed men casually, his movements deceptively nonchalant. “Or what?” The quiet, soft tone of his voice held a dangerous undercurrent of rage. “You’re going to shoot us?” He did not wait for an answer; dropping the flimsy pretence of calm, Anakin flicked his fingers sharply. The men yelped, their faces blanching bone-white as the blasters were torn from their hands, the weapons clattering loudly to the floor.

For a moment, everything was deadly silent, the whole bar seemingly holding its breath.

“ _Out!_ ” Anakin roared, and the walls and the floor shook from his fury, glass breaking and lights flickering. The remaining customers scrambled to the entrance, even the most drunken among them achieving a commendable level of speed and agility. The bartender lumbered after them, muttering something uncomplimentary under his breath. Jem inched out of his seat.

“Not you,” Anakin snarled, and an invisible force took hold of Jem, slamming the Pau’an hard against the table.

“Anakin –” Obi-Wan began warningly, but was summarily interrupted by Ventress, who’s focus was firmly on Obi-Wan’s former apprentice.

“What happened to you?” She sounded genuinely puzzled. “You weren’t this close to the Dark even when your brat was on the run.”

Anakin, predictably, didn’t care for her questioning, demanding harshly, “ _Where is it?!_ ”

“I don’t know anything, I swear!” Jem assured frantically, even as Ventress asked coolly, “Where is what?”

“The missing piece of the holocron,” Obi-Wan interjected, trying to keep hold of whatever fragile control he still had over the volatile situation.

Imperceptibly, Ventress startled, her surprise ringing in the Force. She was clearly amazed at the turn of the conversation. If Obi-Wan had estimated the timeline correctly, the holocron was already waiting for them in the abandoned freighter, Ventress having probably come straight from there to task Jem with delivering the coordinates to Bail. She had to be baffled by the fact they knew about it already.

Even knowing the jig was up, she went with denial. “I don’t know what you mean.” The words turned out to be a major miscalculation – something Ventress would have realized, if she had had any idea what had happened, what was at stake, what Anakin had done –

“Stop playing games,” Anakin growled. Ventress’ fingers flittered to her throat; she rose in the air, her legs dangling a few inches from the ground. She fought frantically to breathe as her windpipe was being slowly squeezed with an invisible fist. The mask was yanked from her face, revealing widened, terrified eyes.

Obi-Wan turned to the horrified Pau’an, ordering him sharply to go. Jem did not need to be told twice; long limbs swinging, he dashed out of the bar as Anakin took no notice of him.

“ _Where is it?_ ” Anakin repeated menacingly, his burning gaze fastened on Ventress’ struggling body with monstrous hunger. Shocked, Obi-Wan realized his former Padawan was enjoying the violence, the intimidation – the terribly intimate nature of it.

“I – I didn’t – know…it,” Ventress gasped, trying to speak, “– it is missing…a part.” Desperate and afraid, her words were sincere. Her blue eyes looked to be bleeding, streaked red from broken blood vessels.

“Anakin, stop! She’s telling the truth.” The situation had gone far enough; _Anakin_ had gone far enough.

“I know,” Anakin admitted, voice cold. And yet – he was not stopping.

“ _Anakin!_ ”

Ventress was slowly suffocating; Obi-Wan hurled himself at Anakin, knocking him aside and breaking his concentration. Ventress dropped to the ground, drawing sharp, painful-sounding breaths. But there was no time to make sure she was alright – with a frenzied rush, Anakin rammed Obi-Wan violently against the wall, the sudden flare of pain flashing across Obi-Wan’s mind more from incredulous horror than from any physical hurt.

Just in time, Obi-Wan managed to block a savage blow aimed at his face; arm aching from the strength of Anakin’s metal hand, Obi-Wan kicked him hard in the shin, twisting them around. Anakin’s heavy weight shook the wall, but before Obi-Wan could pin him against it, his former Padawan Force pushed him, sending Obi-Wan flying backwards.

He crashed into some chairs, the wood digging painfully into his back. Before Obi-Wan could get to his feet, Anakin was upon him, pure rage and instinct, his punch knocking Obi-Wan’s head aside, momentarily blurring his eyesight.

It was the moment Obi-Wan should have gone for his lightsaber; he grasped desperately at Anakin’s face instead.

“ _Stop_ ,” he begged, breath catching in his throat, “stop now, _please_ –”

Obi-Wan’s heart was hammering like an anvil against his ribcage, the galaxy narrowing into the single fragile point between them. Would this be the moment, when they would finally clash irrevocably, lightsabers drawn against each other? Could he really do it?

Fingers firmly in Anakin’s tangled locks, Obi-Wan looked at his Padawan through a film of unshed tears. Anakin was crouching over him, expression wild and vicious. There was hardly any blue left in his eyes.

“ _Dearest_ ,” Obi-Wan exhaled and fell silent. He could not say more – there were no words big enough that could bear the weight of his heart.

The transformation from beast into man was sudden: Anakin looked like Obi-Wan had mortally wounded him, his face twisting in anguish, eyes closing. His fierce hold slackened, the hard grip squeezing Obi-Wan’s shoulder turning into a barely-there touch. A low sound – something helpless and raw – tore out from his throat.

As if burned, Anakin released Obi-Wan, jumping to his feet. He moved back several steps, and when Obi-Wan got up, he retreated a few steps more.

Obi-Wan turned to Ventress; she was leaning against a table, looking at them with an odd expression on her face, a mix of pity and envy in her eyes.

“I did not know it was missing a part,” she rasped. Again, her words rang true in the Force. Obi-Wan had always recognized that her not having the missing piece was a strong possibility, but it was a big disappointment nonetheless. If they could have used it to control the holocron…

“But you do know what the cube is, what is does.”

Obi-Wan’s blunt statement made Ventress’ features tighten. She glanced warily at Anakin, who still kept his distance, motionless and quiet. “I have my suspicions.”

“Where did you get it?” Any information about the holocron was better than none. Perhaps Ventress would know something useful, something that could point them to the missing part – but her next words dashed that hope.

“I happened to be on Ossus, when those witless droids found it. I decided to take it – and stop Dooku from having it.”

“Why me?” Obi-Wan asked quietly. “Why did you want me to find the holocron?”

Ventress’ face twisted into disgust as she sneered, “Because I could be sure that you would do _the right thing_ , get it locked up somewhere safe. But if you know about it already and are here _now_ – I guess I was mistaken.”

“I had to,” Obi-Wan said softly, something in him wanting her to understand, although the vague words were not much of an explanation.

“I see.” Ventress looked at Anakin and then at Obi-Wan, her hard expression slightly softening. Perhaps she did truly understand.

There was nothing else to be said. Obi-Wan and Anakin left Ventress in the wrecked bar, and with mutual silent understanding they headed back to the docks. As Anakin stole a ship, Obi-Wan followed him without protest. And then they were on their way to Coruscant, although both of them knew it was unlikely that they would ever reach the capital.

The ensuing hours were long and silent, with nothing to do but think. Obi-Wan thought about the man next to him on the pilot’s seat, his immense rage and anger, his destructive darkness. The way he had choked Ventress, easy as anything; the way he had vehemently, furiously attacked Obi-Wan. But mostly he thought about Anakin’s eyes closing, the hate withdrawing from his face, the violence leaving his touch, the way he had stopped.

And for the first time since the massacre in the Temple, since seeing the security recordings, Obi-Wan had hope again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think, is Obi-Wan delusional to have hope again?


	6. Part V: The Defeated

[BEFORE]

Afterwards – after all of it had happened, Anakin would think about that moment and wonder. If he had truly made the decision there on the spot, panicked and rushed, or if he had already made his choice long before entering the Chancellor’s office – years earlier, in the Tusken camp, upon the cold sands of Tatooine. Both felt equally true. Both damned him in different ways.

Even as the sight that met his eyes was expected, it still stunned Anakin to his core. Against the backdrop of a gaping maw to the dark city, Mace Windu held Palpatine at saber point in front of a large, shattered window. The urgency and danger of the confrontation unfolding before him slammed into Anakin, the turbulent Force whining and twisting, taking all of his attention, overwhelming his every thought, every sense. He could not tell what it wanted him to do.

“You are under arrest, _my lord_ ,” Windu said, stressing the title pointedly, almost mockingly. Palpatine, sprawling on the floor, back leaning against the side of the window, looked beaten; merely an old, powerless man. As Anakin neared them, Windu signalled him to stay back, to keep his guard up.

Palpatine craned his head towards Anakin, croaking, “Anakin, I told you it would come to this. I was right. The Jedi are taking over.”

“The oppression of the Sith will never return. You have lost.” Windu’s voice was coldly resolute, and Anakin wished for the same kind of utter certainty, for the calm purpose of the single-minded. Even as Windu’s lightsaber continued to unwaveringly point at Palpatine’s throat, Anakin only felt dread instead of triumph.

“No. No. _No_ –” Palpatine growled, his face suddenly contorting with rage, “ _you_ will die.” With a manic snarl he unleashed a storm of Force energy, hurling bolts of blue electricity from his fingers towards Windu. The Jedi Master managed to block the Force lightning with his saber just in time, stumbling back.

Without any conscious thought, Anakin leaned backwards, turned his face away from the deadly lightning crackling before him. The Force howled, deafening. Everything seemed to be in motion, rushing and charging, pulling him in every direction, tearing him apart. And yet Anakin could not move from his spot, could not break free from his role as the helpless spectator. He could barely breathe.

“He’s a traitor!” Palpatine screeched, echoed by Windu’s shout, “He is the traitor!” Locked into a deadly struggle, their faces twisted from extreme exertion, the Force – light, dark, everything in between – surged from one to another and back, its power seeking to defend, to destroy.

And still, Anakin stood as if petrified, paralyzed by all-consuming indecision, crippling terror. Afraid that any move he made, either to help Windu or to block him, would somehow turn out to be the shot that dropped Obi-Wan down into the darkness, the force that drew Padmé’s breath from her, stopping her heart.

He felt like he was outside of his own body, seeing himself looking on as Windu pushed the lightning back towards Palpatine with his saber, slowly but surely advancing on him. Palpatine’s face seemed to melt; his features slacking and drooping into a horrible rubbery mask. His bloodshot eyes sought Anakin’s, beseeching through sheen of pain. “I have the power to save those you love. You must choose.”

“Don’t listen to him, Anakin!”

“Don’t let him kill me,” Palpatine begged feebly, his small frame shaking from the electricity, head like a dead man’s skull, eyes sunken. “I can’t hold it any longer. I – I – I can’t. I – I’m weak. Anakin…help me. Help me!” Suddenly, the Force lightning stopped, Palpatine too tired to sustain it. “I – I – I can’t hold on any longer.”

“I am going to end this once and for all,” Windu decided, expression harsh and unyielding.

Only then Anakin found his voice, the words tumbling from his lips before he even realized he had spoken. “You can’t. He must stand trial.” From all the conflicting thoughts, warring emotions, one thing emerged clearest, strongest: Palpatine had to live – Anakin _needed_ him, his knowledge, his power.

“He has control of the senate and the courts. He is too dangerous to be left alive,” Windu argued vehemently, and ironically, in any other circumstance Anakin would have agreed, would have whole-heartedly plunged his lightsaber into Palpatine’s chest himself. But the stakes were too high, the risk too great. The fates of Anakin’s loved ones hung in the balance.

“I’m too weak. Oh, don’t kill me, _please_ ,” Palpatine pleaded pitifully. With Dooku already dead, the Sith were now defeated. Surely, they could detain Palpatine, imprison him in the deepest, most secure pit, and _make_ him give up all his secrets.

“It’s not the Jedi way. He must live.” The Force screeched all around Anakin, _in_ him, the mad thud of his own heart almost drowning any other sound. He did not know what to do, he knew only that Palpatine had to live.

Windu glanced at Anakin, hesitating. Perhaps the reminder of all that the Jedi were supposed to stand for would stay his hand.

“Please don’t,” Palpatine begged, looking and sounding like a frail, dying man.

“ _I need him_ ,” Anakin confessed, desperate and wretched. And Windu – as if Anakin’s plea had wiped out any remaining doubt, solidifying his decision – raised his lightsaber high, ready to strike.

“ _No!_ ” In a flash, Anakin ignited his weapon and struck the Jedi Master, cutting off the hand that held the purple lightsaber. Windu cried out in pain, and Palpatine’s disfigured face twisted into a pleased smile. Anakin stumbled backwards, in utter disbelief. He could not fathom how – why – what he had just done.

“Power!” The Sith shrieked, hitting Windu with Force lightning, savage and triumphant. “ _Unlimited power!_ ”

Windu screamed and then fell silent under the violent onslaught, and Anakin could only watch, utterly powerless, as a strong surge of the Force, dark and horrid, threw the Jedi out of the window. Anakin’s legs couldn’t carry him anymore, nor could his fingers hold his weapon; he slumped against the desk, lightsaber clattering to the floor. Defeated.

_What have I done?_

For the first time since entering the office, since before Obi-Wan left for Utapau even, the Force was eerily quiet. Only the dark seemed to remain, still and pervasive and content. _Obi-Wan. Oh gods, Obi-Wan._ Thinking about his Master, about what he would think of Anakin’s actions – of his betrayal –, such a sharp ache pierced Anakin, digging so deep he thought he would go mad. That one stroke of saber had just cost him Obi-Wan’s love, any future they might have had together. Gasping for breath, Anakin desperately pushed the pain – _every smile, every kiss, every look_ – out of sight, burying it in the root of him, among all the dark that dwelled there.

Palpatine stood up, facing Anakin. There was no weakness in his body now, no frailty in the twisted face. He oozed might and power. Anakin didn’t know how he could have ever believed even for a second the Sith had been beaten. Palpatine looked at him, calm and collected, confident of his dominion over Anakin. “You’re fulfilling your destiny, Anakin. Become my apprentice. Learn to use the dark side of the Force.”

There was nothing else to do. There was no other way. No other options but this left to him. Anakin had chosen and he had to go through with it, to save those he loved. They might hate him, forsake him, but he could at least keep them alive and safe. Stunned, numb with his decision, Anakin heard himself speak as if from a great distance. “I will do whatever you ask.”

“Good.”

“Just help me save Padmé, our children,” Anakin pleaded, a sudden cold making his body shiver and tremble. “End this war, order Grievous to stand down. I don’t want any more men to be killed.”

The disfigured lines of Palpatine’s face morphed into an almost benevolent expression. “Together we can end the war; your clones will march only where you’ll send them. And Padmé…I will teach you all my Master taught me, and together we can cheat death and save her.” His voice was horribly deep, like a black, bottomless well.

Anakin fell down on his knees. “I pledge myself…to your teachings.” The words were hard to utter, catching on his throat, dragging a bitter bile with them, burning.

“Good. Good,” Palpatine crooned and dark tendrils, hideous and painful, slithered against Anakin’s shields, demanding access. Everything in Anakin recoiled against the rotten touch, but there was no fighting back, nothing to do but to _let_ it. With the last dregs of his willpower, Anakin closed his end of the bond he shared with Obi-Wan, hiding the bright and warmth of it far, far away. Only when the last glimmer of its light was gone, did Anakin open his shields for the Sith.

The dark twined around him, gentle. Welcomed him back home. And as Anakin was utterly claimed, _owned_ , he bowed his head and cried.

Palpatine’s pleasure was a tangible thing, vibrating through the Force, amplified by his declaration: “The Force is strong with you. A powerful Sith you will become. Henceforth you shall be known as…Darth Vader.”

“Thank you…my master,” Anakin forced himself to say, the betrayal of uttering the title belonging to another – _always_ to another – tearing what remained of his soul. But he would do anything, even this one last sacrilege, to save Obi-Wan and Padmé.

“Rise,” the Sith commanded. And Darth Vader did.

\--

[NOW]

He looked old. Beaten.

Obi-Wan stared at his reflection, the small mirror showing a lined face with tired eyes. Apart from the red, swollen patch underneath his left eye, the skin was ashen. A dead man’s face.

_Not yet._ Obi-Wan drew a deep breath and bit the inside of his lip, tasting blood. _Not dead yet._

His right arm ached, as did the whole of his back; Obi-Wan could well imagine the string of motley bruises blooming underneath his clothes. However, as far as physical hurts went, they were relatively minor. He had had worse during friendly sparring. In fact, he had had so much worse so many times he had stopped counting long ago. But this time, the hurt went deeper than skin and bones; it was the images of the dead Jedi, it was Anakin’s face, savage and hate-filled. It was the betrayal – of the Jedi, of the Republic, of his and Anakin’s relationship – that continued to cut into him, raising a black, ravaging anger in its wake.

Obi-Wan exited the refresher, stepping into the freighter’s small communal area. He glanced at the short hallway that led into the cockpit, where Anakin still sat, unmoving and silent, staring at the blue tunnel of hyperspace. In the five hours they had travelled towards Coruscant, they had not spoken to each other. The silence was heavy and suffocating, but Obi-Wan did not know what to say to begin to ease it. Every word was a potential mine, liable to go off at the smallest pressure, threatening to wreak destruction and break the fragile status quo. 

He slumped into a bench, his body suddenly too heavy and unwieldy. Obi-Wan knew it was just the effect of the holocron, and the shock of his world turning on its head finally wearing off. The fatigue spread over him, muffling and dimming the space around him. He wanted to close his eyes, wanted to rest for a moment. He wanted to sleep and forget, but he doubted his dreams would be so merciful as to give him oblivion.

Attempting meditation was also out of the question. It might help him with the next transition, and perhaps it would aid in settling the storm of painful feelings inside of him, and bring some clarity to the present situation…and yet he could not make himself try it. Although he was in the past, and therefore, theoretically he should not feel the fractures, the darkness – but what if he could? Obi-Wan was not ready to face that void, feel the lack of all those he had lost. If he immersed himself in the Force, would he feel the echoes of their passing again? Would there be dark, where there once was light?

Besides, there was no time to rest, no good moment to lower his guard. He had a mission to carry out, and it took precedence over everything. Obi-Wan rose to his feet, pushing aside the weariness, fending off the dangerous lethargy. As he had done numerous times during harsh, endless campaigns, he drew up any reserves of energy he still had, all the strength left in his body and mind.

Disregarding his reluctance, Obi-Wan went back to the cockpit and settled on the co-pilot’s seat. Anakin was still staring straight ahead, looking out of the viewport at the fluctuating space like it held all the secrets of the universe. Unlike in the beginning of their flight, Obi-Wan didn’t even bother feigning interest in the instruments before him; instead, he kept glancing at Anakin from the corner of his eye none too furtively.

As so many times before, his thoughts went back to that moment in the _Hairy Spacer_ , when he had begged Anakin to stop. The way his former Padawan had flinched as if scalded, the hate-twisted mask morphing back into _Anakin’s_ face. The way he had scrambled away from Obi-Wan, avoiding eye contact ever since. Was Obi-Wan delusional, wrong, disloyal, to hold even the tiniest hope that Anakin had not fallen completely, that Anakin could yet turn back to the light? Perhaps, but he had enough self-awareness to know that he needed that hope to claw his way onwards, to continue to fight, to fulfil his mission.

He had to believe he could change the past, but he also had to hope that the Anakin he knew was not really gone, that here, in this horrible present, the man Obi-Wan loved still existed. Because even if he succeeded in rewinding time enough to undo the tragedy that had befallen the Jedi and the Republic, and things went back to the way they had been, Anakin again as he had been before, it would not be the same. Obi-Wan would know. He would know how easily everything he loved could be taken away; how the man he had thought he knew better than himself was only a mirage, a cover for some dark doppelgänger. And so he had to believe; he had to hope that _his_ Anakin had been and still was and always would be as he had known him to be.

“What?” Anakin muttered, discomfort evident in his strained voice, in his stiff posture. “Is there something stuck on my face?” 

Obi-Wan turned to look at him more openly, watching Anakin’s stony profile. Was he just a stranger with a face overlaid with the familiar features Obi-Wan loved so well? Or was Anakin still there, underneath all that hate and darkness? Cautiously, Obi-Wan examined their bond, testing the point of connection that was so tightly shut there were no seams, nor the tiniest gap. The Force bond joining him to Anakin was still there, and yet it was not; it was like it abruptly ended midway, a steel girder barring the way.

If Anakin felt Obi-Wan prodding, he didn’t show any signs of it. Keeping his gaze on the hyperspace, Anakin was clearly ready to continue to pretend Obi-Wan didn’t exist. Obi-Wan, however, had finally grown tired of that game.

“I need to know what happened.” Although he tried to express it as a calm request, it came out more like a fervent demand.

At least Anakin didn’t try to act like he didn’t know what Obi-Wan meant; he just stayed silent, an empty look taking over his face. The tension between them was so thick it could have been cut with a knife.

“I can’t change events, if I don’t know what happened,” Obi-Wan reasoned, trying to sound as rational and business-like as possible. Undoubtedly it would be easier if they both focused just on the facts. At least that way there was a small chance they wouldn’t end up tearing each other to pieces.

For a moment it seemed like Anakin would continue to ignore him, but then he started to recount with a dead tone of voice what had happened in Coruscant while Obi-Wan had been away. How he had gone to inform the Chancellor that Obi-Wan had found Grievous and how Palpatine had then revealed himself to be the Sith lord they had been searching for. How Anakin had hurried back to the Temple and had ran into Mace Windu, who, with three other Masters, had gone to face Palpatine, leaving Anakin behind. How Anakin had followed them to the Chancellor’s office, finding Windu facing off against Palpatine. There, Anakin halted his tale, falling quiet.

Obi-Wan waited for him to continue with bated breath. Anakin’s account had so far been clinical and devoid of any feeling; Obi-Wan knew what had happened, but not _why_. Heart pounding, Obi-Wan kept his eyes on Anakin, not willing to miss the slightest twitch of his expression, any sign of – something.

“I stopped him – Windu wanted to kill Palpatine then and there, but that is not the Jedi way,” Anakin said, toneless. Perhaps he felt Obi-Wan’s incredulous stare, for he continued with a more plausible explanation, voice slightly quivering, “I couldn’t let him kill Palpatine, I had to stop him – I _needed_ Palpatine.”

Obi-Wan’s throat was tight, like something solid was lodged there, making it hard for him to breathe. He could only croak one word, the only one that mattered: “ _Why?_ ”

“Padmé – she’s pregnant, I’m going to be a father,” Anakin said hoarsely, his lifeless mask finally cracking. “I saw a vision, over and over again – she’s going to die, the babies are going to die – and I saw you too, falling and drowning and I couldn’t – I had to stop it and Palpatine knew how, he could stop the war and help me keep Padmé from dying and I had to. _I had to_.”

Stunned, Obi-Wan felt the bottom drop from beneath his feet, plunging him again towards deep, dark depths. As he shifted through Anakin’s garbled explanation, trying to make sense of it – Padmé was _pregnant_? – the main beats of the tale sounded depressingly, devastatingly familiar: tormenting visions and fear of death. Thinking about what had happened, _why_ it had happened, Obi-Wan’s stomach turned. He felt sick.

“I never – I never wanted to hurt you. All I ever wanted was to save you, all of you,” Anakin whispered, sounding miserable.

_But you did hurt me,_ Obi-Wan thought, watching as a single tear ran down Anakin’s cheek. Obi-Wan had wanted emotion from Anakin, had wanted to break the façade, but now that he had gotten his wish, he didn’t want to see its aftermath. He didn’t – he couldn’t – it was all too much.

And yet Obi-Wan could do nothing else but draw more blood, could not stop asking, “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped –”

“You left! I asked – I _begged_ – for you to stay, but you chose to leave!” Anakin cried out in a sudden, shocking burst of anguish-anger-accusation, finally turning to face Obi-Wan. The familiar blue of his eyes was striking, prominent even when surrounded by red-yellow rims.

“Don’t you dare blame this on me.” Feeling cold all over, hollow to the core, Obi-Wan rose from his seat and left the cockpit.

Despite his words to Anakin, Obi-Wan knew very well he too was culpable – the fault, the reason, the crime led back to him. And he would have to bear the guilt and shame of it for the end of his days and beyond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of the dialogue in the before-section is again straight from ROTS. I have to admit it was really a hard scene to write - did Anakin's thought process seem believable?


	7. Part VI: The Believer

[BEFORE]

Despite the room being fully lit, the office seemed dim, the crimson walls bleeding with malice, settling like a sheet of dark over Anakin’s eyesight. Outside, the lights of the speeders flashed by, people going about their business, having no idea of what had transpired. Not knowing that not only Anakin’s life, but their own lives as well, had just changed irrevocably.

Palpatine had turned to watch the view, unbothered by the cold wind that rushed inside through the broken window, freezing the air in Anakin’s lungs. It was still hard to breathe properly, the simple motion drawing forth stabbing pain, although he knew there was nothing physically wrong with him. Anakin tried to push the ache away, to prepare himself for whatever came next. The nightmare was only beginning.

“Because the Council did not trust you, my young apprentice, I believe you are the only Jedi with no knowledge of this plot. When the Jedi learn what has transpired here, they will kill us, along with all the senators,” Palpatine mused, his low, steady voice a warped reflection of the voice of a kind mentor he had donned numerous times in the past when talking with Anakin.

_I trusted you._ The thought did not raise the expected storm of anger as it had before, only numb bewilderment. He had trusted Palpatine almost blindly, and when it had truly mattered, he had also trusted the Council. They had all deceived him. Anakin would have to draw his own conclusions now, shift through the muck of lies. In this, he knew Palpatine to be right. The Jedi would not stand for what had happened. They would try to kill Palpatine – _and_ Anakin – and they would attempt to take the power for themselves. The Jedi would not trust the Senate anymore, not when a Sith had been leading it for all these years.

“I agree. The Council’s next move will be against the Senate.”

Palpatine turned slowly to face Anakin, declaring, “Every single Jedi, including your friend Obi-Wan Kenobi, is now the enemy of the Republic.” His beady gaze examined Anakin, penetrating through all shields and layers, seeking out signs of resistance or doubt.

“I understand, Master,” Anakin answered as firmly as he could. Then he hesitated, knowing he would have to tread carefully. He had to make Palpatine see that Obi-Wan posed no risk – which was a tall order, because if Obi-Wan was one thing to the Sith, it was a noteworthy threat. “However…I believe that I can persuade Obi-Wan to agree that this is…for the best. He only wants peace, and I know he didn’t take part in any plot against you – he, he could be a powerful ally to us; the clones, the army, they all look up to him.” Anakin was well aware that his words were too rushed, too desperate, too revealing, but his heart was hammering against his chest, every beat throbbing with Obi-Wan’s name.

Palpatine’s expression was inscrutable, and heat burning his cheeks, Anakin averted his eyes. He had no idea what he would do, if the Sith disagreed and ordered Obi-Wan to be killed.

“As you wish, Lord Vader,” Palpatine finally croaked. “I will leave Kenobi to you. I am certain you will do your utmost to remind him of his loyalty to the Republic and the Senate.”

“Thank you, Master,” Anakin breathed, the relief making him lightheaded. Ruthlessly, he suppressed the feeling; the heavy weight of Palpatine’s eyes on him continued to press against Anakin, the Sith’s Force presence – oppressive and overwhelming – circling him, grabbing at anything that was left open and bare and defenceless.

“We must move quickly. The Jedi are relentless,” Palpatine growled. “If they are not all destroyed, it will be civil war without end. First, I want you to go to the Jedi Temple. We will catch them off-balance. Do what must be done, Lord Vader. Do not hesitate. Show no mercy. Only then will you be strong enough with the dark side…to save Padmé.”

“What about the other Jedi spread across the galaxy?” Anakin heard himself asking. A distant thought hovered on the edges of his consciousness, made him wonder at himself. How could he stand there so calmly, discussing the eradication of the Order he had been part of more than half his life? How could he even contemplate killing the Jedi, many of them his acquaintances, some of them his friends?

_They don’t matter._

It was the cold, merciless truth. They didn’t matter. Palpatine had won, and what really mattered now was survival, Anakin battling to forge a new existence, a new life for those he loved.

Palpatine smiled grimly. “Their betrayal will be dealt with. After you have killed all the Jedi in the Temple, go to the Mustafar system. Wipe out Viceroy Gunray…and the other Separatist leaders. Once more the Sith will rule the galaxy! And…we shall have…peace.”

At least that was an order Anakin would gladly execute. The Separatist scum deserved a bloody ending, preferably at his hand. But those in the Temple…Anakin steeled himself, banished any doubt. He would do what had to be done. There was no going back. There was no time for half-measures, for second guessing. If he let himself to think, to imagine even for a moment, what Obi-Wan and Padmé would say, he would falter, he would undo all he had already done.

_I did this for them_ , he reminded himself. _I will do whatever I must for them._

\--

[NOW]

“ _Obi-Wan!_ ”

The name – _his_ own name – hissed urgently, with Anakin’s voice, was enough to rouse Obi-Wan from his stupor. He fought his way to consciousness, a stabbing, burning pain wreaking havoc with his insides. Empty stomach clenching, he threw up a trickle of bitter bile, finding himself crouched on all fours on a ground of smooth stones.

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin sounded adamant and alarmed; his boots were just visible on the periphery of Obi-Wan’s sight. He was standing on Obi-Wan’s right side, hovering close but not touching. “You have to get up!”

_Thank you Anakin, for stating the obvious_ , Obi-Wan thought grouchily. He took a deep breath, pushing the excruciating ache to the fringes of his mind. Soon, he would have to do more than just shut the pain away, if he wanted to continue to function normally, but there wasn’t any time for that yet –

“We have to move,” Anakin urged, the Force awash with his agitation and impatience. “We don’t have much time.”

“Excuse me,” Obi-Wan muttered and stood up with embarrassingly unsteady feet, trying to discreetly wipe his mouth with his sleeve. He was met with Anakin’s blue eyes, and although they were still threaded with the vestiges of the sickly yellow and horribly bloodshot, they were unmistakably his Padawan’s eyes, the intensity in them so familiar. Obi-Wan had to turn his gaze away.

The last he remembered, they had been on their way to Coruscant in the stolen freighter, and Anakin had told him _why_ –

Obi-Wan had left the cockpit, angry and anguished, desperately wanting not to think about his own role in the whole catastrophe, but knowing he bore the blame too for what had happened, because he could have stopped Anakin if only he had been there, he should have seen it coming, all of it, because he had left Anakin, because he had loved Anakin –

“We’re in Theed,” Anakin said, the simple words quivering with underlaying tension.

Obi-Wan looked around, recognizing the features of Naboo’s capital city. They were standing in a narrow, cobbled street, flanked with tall whitewashed buildings. Above them, clotheslines criss-crossed from one house to another, and banners hung from them, their colours deep and bright against the blue of the sky. The air was pleasantly warm, and a brilliant sun peeked over one tiled roof. The street was empty of any other beings but them – and yet they were not alone. A wild roar rushed over the buildings like a surging tide, a cacophony of sound coming ever closer; thumps and cheers and shouts, the rhythmic bang of drums and the clear call of trumpets. 

“Let's go.” Obi-Wan wrapped his robe more securely around himself, drawing the hood up to hide his face. He walked along the street, heading towards the wave of sound, knowing that Anakin would follow.

Their current whereabouts was hardly a surprise. Naboo, Palpatine’s home world, had played a major part in the war, but more importantly, it had been the scene of one of the most significant turning points in both of their lives. The direction of Anakin’s and Obi-Wan’s future had taken a completely unexpected direction with Qui-Gon’s death. Instead of being brothers of the same lineage in name only – Obi-Wan busy with missions far away from the Temple while Anakin trained under Qui-Gon’s tutelage, the former apprentice rarely meeting the current one – they had been thrust together as a Master and a Padawan, both of them unready and uncertain.

_All of this could have been avoided, if only Qui-Gon had lived._ The thought clawed at his heart, an old fear now a certainty. _Qui-Gon would not have failed Anakin._

They crossed a small intersection and turned to another narrow street, the sounds growing ever louder. Four Nabooian children ran past them, the two in the lead shouting at their slower companions to hurry up. The children ducked into an alley and Obi-Wan followed them until the street ended in an impenetrable wall made of people’s backs. The row of people blocked the entrance to the wide main street, their joyful cheers and waving hands forming an unintended barrier.

“It’s the parade,” Anakin breathed just behind Obi-Wan’s ear; although he was so close that they almost touched, Anakin’s voice was barely audible among all the noise.

_Again, stating the obvious._

Obi-Wan declined to answer and pressed closer to the spectators lining the street, trying to find a better view of the victory parade. He came to stand behind a mother and her children, easily seeing the main street over their heads. The grand buildings were decorated with flowers, and petals floated in the air, raining gently down on the procession of Gungans, playing drums and trumpets. Soon, they would be followed by the generals and the officials, and Boss Nass himself, riding a great falumpaset.

The turning point had already come to pass; their futures set to the direction that would bring about the destruction of the Republic and the Jedi Order. It was the day after Qui-Gon’s funeral, the celebration of the end of the Trade Federation’s invasion of Naboo.

“ _He’s here_.” Anakin grabbed Obi-Wan’s arm, his mechanical fingers squeezing the bones, creating another set of bruises.

Yes, Palpatine was in attendance; the newly elected Supreme Chancellor had arrived on Naboo with members of the Jedi High Council. Right at that very moment, he was standing on the dais with the Queen and other high-ranking officials, the Council members on one side. Obi-Wan was there too, his Padawan braid freshly cut, Anakin next to him in his new Jedi robes. Both of them playacting their new roles.

None of them had even the slightest idea that there was a Sith Master among them.

_What fools we were. What fools we are._

“We can take him out, _right now_ ,” Anakin hissed, tugging Obi-Wan out of the crowd. “We have to –” A roar of engines drowned out any other sound; a formation of N-1 starfighters streaked overhead, followed by N-X Police Cruisers and NB-1S Royal Bombers. The noise reverberated inside Obi-Wan, for a second forming an odd bubble of silence around him, rendering him momentarily deaf. 

Obi-Wan stumbled as Anakin dragged him back towards where they had come, along the narrow alley, away from the main street. When they were out of sight of any curious eyes, Obi-Wan yanked his arm out of Anakin’s hold, struggling to keep his balance as they both came to an abrupt stop.

“We have to get to the dais.” Anakin’s pinched, sallow face accentuated the wild look in his eyes, his desperation and eagerness for immediate action saturating the very air around them, making it so hard to breathe, so hard to look at him –

Obi-Wan pursed his lips together, suddenly exhausted, tired of trying to be the voice of reason. What did it matter anymore? Even if they somehow managed to kill Palpatine, would that even be enough? Perhaps the fault was innately sewed into the very fabric of their relationship, and no matter what, they would always fail each other.

“Obi-Wan! We don’t have time for this – he is so close!” Anakin sounded terribly frustrated, pacing in front of Obi-Wan like a caged animal waiting an opportune moment to strike.

Obi-Wan sighed, lifting his gaze from Anakin’s boots, chancing a glance at his former Padawan’s face that had twisted into a heart-tugging lines of frantic fury and helpless pleading. “And what exactly do you intend us to do? Rush to the heavily guarded dais, where six Jedi Masters and a Sith Lord is waiting?” Their failure to kill Palpatine there was a foregone conclusion. It would only result in a pandemonium, probably in their own deaths – at the very worst Palpatine would realize that they were from the future, see what they were trying to do.

“If that is what it takes!” Anakin growled, his gloved hand clasping the hilt of his saber. Halting his mad pacing, Anakin turned to Obi-Wan, his voice growing softer. “This could be my – _our_ only chance.”

“It’s a chance only for failure,” Obi-Wan said, expecting the way Anakin’s expression clouded over with anger, his eyes narrowing.

“You have given up,” Anakin accused, his voice a mix of misery and rage. The blue of his eyes looked dark beneath the shadows of the tall buildings; they were like two black holes, bottomless and terrible, devouring all the stars and suns with their need and want, absorbing and annihilating everything living or dead. Obi-Wan could do nothing else to resist their deadly pull, but to turn his gaze away. 

“You don’t believe we can change anything, do you?” The hopeless words made Obi-Wan ache worse than any bruise, the way they tumbled from Anakin’s lips, soft and trembling, widening the desolation between them. “You don’t think I can – you don’t…you don’t believe _in me_. You can’t even look at me.”

“I don’t know what I believe in anymore,” Obi-Wan confessed tiredly, sapped of all strength, drained dry of any anger or hope or even love. Empty. Used up. A failure.

If only the holocron had brought them back just a little bit earlier in time, when Qui-Gon still lived and breathed and would have taken Anakin as his apprentice and taught him all Obi-Wan had failed to. Just a little bit more backwards in time, and Obi-Wan could have prevented that fateful strike, could have turned the direction of all of their futures, averting the destruction of everything he had ever loved – avoiding his greatest love all together, for he and Anakin would have hardly ever met and they would have never grown so close, never grown roots in each other so deep –

But even with the power of the holocron in their possession, it was useless to expect a reprieve, a lucky break, a true chance. They were only tossed about in time, without any control or plan. How could he have ever though they could succeed?

“ _I’m_ not going to cower here uselessly,” Anakin spat out after a small, suffocating silence. He swung around and strode forward, leaving Obi-Wan behind.

With every step Anakin took, Obi-Wan’s legs grew heavier, until finally he slumped against the alley wall. The invisible bond tying them together, always there even when cold and closed, stretched with the increasing distance; he wondered when it would at last break completely. Would it be a relief or the final blow finishing him off?

He closed his eyes, the day suddenly too bright even among the shadows. The voices of celebration still sounded from the main street, the play of drums and trumpets replaced by a harmony of happy singing. Obi-Wan wished for the tearing pain, for the unconsciousness, for another time.

“Alright.” The hoarse voice did not startle Obi-Wan; although he hadn’t heard Anakin come back, he had _felt_ it. Even now it felt like something tight inside him was easing, his lungs drawing air more easily, his heart beating with a more light, quicker pace. His body betrayed him, not caring _what_ Anakin was, only that it _was_ Anakin.

Childishly, Obi-Wan kept his eyes closed, not needing his sight to tell him that Anakin was dropping down onto his knees, sitting down next to Obi-Wan, right next to him, almost, but not, touching.

“Alright, we plan it, find a better opportunity,” Anakin said quietly, his tone surprisingly calm. “If not the feast, then in the evening – Palpatine has to be alone sometime.”

Obi-Wan did not say they might not have time to wait for the evening, for the feast that had gone on hours after the parade to end, that the holocron could yank them out of Theed at any given moment. He didn’t have to say it, for Anakin knew it as well as he did. And still Anakin made every effort, tried his hardest. It made Obi-Wan as glad as it made him angry. _Where was this determination before? Why didn’t you try this hard not to fall?_

“Meanwhile, we find a place to rest, somewhere where you can meditate,” Anakin continued, his voice now only a gentle murmur, an agonizing reminder of better days. “Obi-Wan…I want – I want you to know that I…that I…”

_Don’t say you love me. Don’t say it._ Obi-Wan clenched his hands into tight fists, nails digging into flesh.

Perhaps Anakin heard him, for his words faltered, and then he stopped speaking altogether. Just as Obi-Wan thought there was only silence left between them, Anakin breathed out deep, voicing the words that sneaked into Obi-Wan’s heart, quickening its beat.

“I don’t blame you, for not believing in me. I know that’s impossible now, after everything... But I – I do believe _in you_ , Obi-Wan. I always have, even when I…forgot that I did.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I realized only after writing this part, that the chapter name is the same as one of the episode's of the Mandalorian. However, I was too lazy to think of a new name :D I want to wish you all happy and peaceful holidays, wherever you are. I hope that the new year will be a lot better for all of us.


	8. Part VII: The Intruders

[BEFORE]

When Anakin had seen the Jedi Temple for the first time, had gazed in awe upon the huge statues guarding the grand entrance, dwarfing anyone and everything, it had only reinforced his belief that the beings who had made such a magnificent building were surely the most powerful in the galaxy, capable of anything. He had wanted so badly to be one of them – the greatest of them. That naïve belief in the Jedi’s omnipotence hadn’t lasted very long, but that fervent wish to be the best had never really left him.

He had wanted to prove to all the doubters that he belonged in that ancient building, had wanted to show to all who looked at him with derision or suspicion or pity – _too old, too fearful, too uneducated, too angry, too much_ – that he had earned his place to be there, that he would become stronger, better, more powerful than any of them.

However, despite all his accomplishments – or perhaps precisely because of them – he had never fitted in, always on the outside, apart. No one ever forgot just where he had come from, least of all himself. Often unable to sleep, he had roamed the halls of the Temple, exploring every forgotten passage way and deserted chamber, detesting the cold cavernous rooms that differed so much from Tatooine, but still feeling an odd kinship with the building, the empty spaces echoing back his loneliness. He recognized now, that there had always been two warring passions in him: one that wanted to tear down the Temple to its foundations, and one that yearned to find a true home within its walls. Based on his experiences, the first one had always been the most likely outcome of the two.

_And yet, you did have a home_ , something whispered insistently, _with Obi-Wan._

Aching to the roots of his heart, Anakin resolutely squashed the distant voice. All of his unwelcome, errant thoughts were trampled under the heavy thudding of boots that marched up the stairs of the Processional Way. With each step, he was nearing the main entrance, the massive pylons coming closer. Etched on their surface were the figures of the four Masters, who had founded the Temple, and they followed now Anakin’s approach with stony faces. They could do nothing to stop him. No one could.

The 501st marched behind Anakin unquestioningly, never hesitating. Anakin had always known his men would follow him to the gates of hell and beyond; he had just never imagined they would do it like this. Should he be proud that they obeyed him still? Should he commend them for their loyalty to the Republic? No doubt he should. And yet, he could not help but be disgusted at how easily the troops had turned on their Jedi comrades, how blindly they followed orders, proving themselves finally to be nothing more than mindless clones. If Anakin had not been leading them, they would have been trying to kill him – they were not loyal to him or anyone else really. They only did as they were designed to do.

It cheapened everything they had went through together, diminished every bloody struggle and hardship they had endured on the battlefield. They were lesser men than Anakin had thought, and that enraged him, made him feel cheated. He was glad that at least Rex was not there, that the Captain’s expertise had been needed on a mission and he had already left for the Mid Rim days ago. Appo had taken Rex’s place on Anakin’s right side, but he felt nothing for Appo, except the urge to sneer at his blank and cold obedience, the dark urge to plunge his saber into the clone’s heart. _Traitor_ , his mind whispered. _Traitors, the both of us, all of us._

Ruin and destruction awaited those sheltering inside the Temple’s sturdy walls, and yet Anakin knew it was him and his troops who were inexplicably marching into their own doom.

\--

[NOW]

When Obi-Wan emerged from his meditation, he half-expected to find himself alone. However, to his surprise, Anakin was still in the room with him, sitting at the small table, just as he had been, when Obi-Wan had reluctantly immersed himself in the Force. It had been hours since then, and Anakin had had ample opportunities to ditch Obi-Wan and do whatever he wanted, but somehow, he was still there. He had not decided against waiting, had not rushed to the Royal Palace to try to kill Palpatine by himself. He had not left Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan did not want to think about what that could mean. 

Except for the lone glow-lamp on the table, the room was dark. Head bent over his work, tangled hair falling into his eyes, Anakin fiddled with the different mechanical parts laid out in front of him. That sight was something Obi-Wan had witnessed innumerable times; he wondered if Anakin still got some measure of peace from tinkering, or if that old truth about his friend had also changed with everything else.

Obi-Wan rose from his cross-legged position on the floor, aching muscles protesting. Automatically, he stretched his arms and back, as he always did after a long meditation session. The Force around him hummed, restful yet expectant. Content yet yearning.

“Feel better?” Anakin’s hushed voice still sounded too loud in the silent room.

“Some,” Obi-Wan admitted curtly, feeling ashamed at his earlier defeatism and tiredness. Both his body and mind had been on the verge of a shutdown, too many shocks and hits having landed past his defences. Meditation had not been something Obi-Wan had wanted to do, but he had finally recognized it was something he badly needed in order to even begin to try to repair some of the damage.

As he continued his stretches, Obi-Wan took stock of himself; he did feel somewhat better, at least less like he would keel over at any moment. The techniques that he had learnt from Healer S`ghan, when he had been aboard the _Refuge_ , seemed to have helped, the Force starting to heal the cells that the time travel had again frayed and torn. His mind felt sharper too, less muddled by guilt and grief. As for those emotions, and the many others – anger, despair, resentment, longing, hope, _love_ –, they would take much more than one meditation to sort out, to let go. If they ever even could be released fully; they were now so tightly interlaced with the very essence of Obi-Wan’s being, he felt like they would forever be a part of him.

If he let it, the small apartment echoed back all those feelings. The owners of the house were mere memories, smiling faces inside a picture frame, only a black mourning ribbon on the front door telling their fate. The family had in all likelihood died in the invasion, and their once happy home was now only an empty space, offering an opportune hiding place for Obi-Wan and Anakin, conveniently situated near the Royal Palace.

The blue numbers of the chronometer on the shelf told Obi-Wan it was late evening, the sky outside turned dark. The celebrations were to continue long into the night, but the Chancellor would retire to his rooms half-way through the festivities. The time to act drew ever closer.

“Soon,” Anakin remarked quietly, as if he knew the direction of Obi-Wan’s thoughts – and he probably did. They had waited together for the zero hour in all manner of places and situations, their plans well-thought-out or non-existent, but in the end, always sure of one thing: each other. That last surety now taken from him, Obi-Wan felt that anything could happen at any moment. There were no guarantees, even if Anakin wanted the same thing as Obi-Wan, even if he looked and acted like the partner Obi-Wan had once relied on. A familiar cold calm had settled over Anakin. The deadly focus was the general in him, the strategist and the leader. Was it also the Sith in him?

Obi-Wan joined Anakin at the table, looking at what his former apprentice was making. He recognized some of the parts, taken from common household items, Anakin fitting them together into a contraption, twisting them to form a purpose their manufacturers had most certainly not intended. He was making small explosive devices.

_Of course_ _he is_. Perhaps Obi-Wan should have been more alarmed by that than he actually was.

Anakin shot a quick glance at him, lips quirking in wry amusement. “Just in case we run into some…complications.”

Some of those complications could turn out to be the numerous guards who were only doing their duty, or all the other people gathered at the palace who had nothing to do with Palpatine, _or_ the Jedi Council members who were no doubt still alert for the smallest sign of danger.

“Just remember, we are not here to kill innocent people,” Obi-Wan said sharply, reminded again of what Anakin’s dark temper had done to Ventress, to those soldiers on Nubia – to the Jedi in the Temple.

“Most of those _innocent_ people will die anyway, if we don’t stop Palpatine,” Anakin spat out through gritted teeth, jaw clenched. “And those who get to live, he’ll ruin their lives. He deceives and manipulates and destroys and he takes everything they have…” Anakin’s bitter words tapered into heavy silence. Obi-Wan stared at the explosives, cold to the core of him, trying to retain that fleeting feel of restfulness the meditation had given him.

“He ruined me,” Anakin said at last, all too matter-of-fact.

Since there was no help for it, Obi-Wan lay his hand atop Anakin’s, carefully and gently, keeping it pressed against the leather-clad mechanical fingers for just a small moment.

He did not say, _I know_. He did not say, _he ruined us both_. He did not say, _we will kill him_.

He did not have to.

\--

Only someone, who was either a complete fool or extremely desperate, would try to break in unnoticed into Naboo’s Royal Palace. Either way, they had better be thoroughly prepared to even get near one of the entrances. The building was extensively protected; besides the highly trained and dedicated guards, the ancient palace itself had been situated and built with security in mind. It was located on the edge of a tall cliff, and there were several watch towers on the rock face, making the scaling of the cliff, if not wholly impossible, at least such a great folly, even Obi-Wan and Anakin knew better than to attempt it.

The side of the palace that faced the city didn’t offer any less hardships for uninvited guests. The massive structure of towers and rotundas was surrounded by a huge garden, which in turn was enclosed inside an impressive security fence that could not be penetrated or climbed. Guards were stationed at every entrance, and they also patrolled the grounds and the perimeter of the garden, alert and ready to defend their Queen.

So, only the fools and the desperate tried to sneak in, and Obi-Wan and Anakin undoubtedly were both. But luckily, they also had several advantages that others did not. Firstly, they were experts in breaking out – and sometimes in – of supremely difficult places. Secondly, they knew the Royal Palace. Obi-Wan had searched his memory, had dragged forth everything he remembered of what the building had been like a decade ago. Thirdly, they were _very_ determined, and that, Obi-Wan knew, sometimes made all the difference. Oh, and also, they could use the Force.

They bypassed the main entrance entirely, knowing the grand doors facing the Palace Plaza were too visible and central an entry point to try anything. The little known, out-of-the-way security gate leading into a side garden was a much better option. It could only be opened with a passcode that few knew, the guards stationed outside the gate being among those few – an oversight that would be corrected in the future. Naboo had only encountered its first dark Force-user mere days ago, and no one had yet had time to plan precautions against Force-sensitive intruders. None had imagined how easy it could be to mind trick the guards, to get them to give the password and make them forget anything uncommon had ever happened. However, that would change soon; Padmé was a quick learner.

Once inside the garden, they flitted from shadow to shadow, creeping around the patrolling guards, silent and quick. The secret passage that led through the garden to the palace’s main hangar was exactly were Obi-Wan remembered; a practical way for the Queen to exit the building unseen, but also an easy path inside for those with less than noble intentions. More challenging than avoiding the guards and entering the palace unseen was the effort it took to mask their Force signatures. They were both all too aware that there were several Jedi and a Sith lord in the premises, and even a slight flickering of their tight shields could reveal their presence. And still, the most difficult thing was yet to come – confronting Palpatine.

But they had to find him first.

The Royal Palace was huge, filled with vast, cavernous corridors and stairs, with hundreds of chambers meant for official functions or private use. Obi-Wan knew where the Queen’s throne room and audience chambers were, and he had also seen the massive library and the adjoining study rooms. These were all situated in the official part of the building, and their quarry was unlikely to be there. However, next to that section of the palace stood the lavish residence wing, where visiting dignitaries were housed, and where Palpatine surely had to be staying.

The closer they got to the residence wing, the harder Obi-Wan’s heart slammed against his rib cage. They had gotten fairly far into the palace through deserted corridors, but gradually the emptiness gave way to approaching footsteps, quiet conversations or sounds of laughter. More than once they had to hide inside random rooms or behind big statues and tapestries, subtly diverting the attention of the passing guards and hurrying servants away from them with the Force. It made their progress excruciatingly slow, something that was getting on Anakin’s – and, if he was perfectly honest, also on Obi-Wan’s – nerves.

_Woosh._

Ahead, a door suddenly swished open, and a servant stepped into the corridor. Standing in the middle of that very same corridor, half-way between its entrance and exit, Anakin and Obi-Wan both froze on the spot. Her back to them, the servant was manoeuvring a big silver tray through the doorway, trying not to tip over the various dishes heaped upon it.

Once again Obi-Wan found himself dashing for cover, wedging himself between a statue’s butt and the wall. Perhaps in some other circumstance Obi-Wan could have seen the humour in the situation – because lacking any other viable options, Anakin squeezed unceremoniously next to him, elbow digging into Obi-Wan’s side. The naked male statue, in size twice that of a normal human, luckily just covered them both, although it was an extremely tight fit. Obi-Wan was afraid to move even an inch, feeling the weight and shape of Anakin’s home-made devices, some of them stashed inside the pockets of his own robe. With Anakin so near him, the situation was explosive in more than one way.

It was the closest they had been to each other since Obi-Wan had brushed his mouth against Anakin’s forehead on the dock of the _Vigilance_ , saying goodbye, seemingly a lifetime ago.

It was deceptively, torturously, wonderfully familiar.

Anakin was pressed against Obi-Wan from shoulder to hip, and like always, the warmth and firmness of his body was tangible and grounding, making Obi-Wan feel wondrously alive. The smell of him – a mix of sweat and engine oil, with an underlying hint of something sharp and cool, like the night air on Tatooine – hit Obi-Wan like a physical punch, making him breathe in deeply.

Anakin’s nearness, however unintended and innocent, revealed a cruel truth: Obi-Wan’s mind could protest and argue and scream how wrong it all was, but the body did not listen. No, Obi-Wan’s body only remembered and yearned and wanted, not knowing any other way.

Flushing from sudden heat – Anakin, as always, was a furnace, running hot – and his skin tingling, Obi-Wan tried to concentrate on the sounds around him: another _woosh_ as the door closed, a _clink_ and faint cursing as the servant continued to struggle with the tray, and finally receding footsteps as she headed for the opposite direction from them. Then silence.

There was only the sound of Anakin breathing, the heavy exhales and inhales of air, just above Obi-Wan’s ear, making him shiver. Anakin’s mouth, almost touching the side of Obi-Wan’s face, a strand of his hair tickling Obi-Wan’s brow. The touch of Anakin’s hand, pressing against Obi-Wan’s ribs, hesitant yet possessive.

_Close. Too close. Not close enough._

“Soon,” Anakin murmured, his voice burrowing deep into Obi-Wan’s bones, igniting every nerve. “He will be gone, and we will be –”

But he did not continue, and Obi-Wan chose to believe it was relief – and _only_ relief – he felt, when Anakin detached his hold on Obi-Wan and eased himself out of their hiding place. There was suddenly distance between them again, room to breathe and think and focus. There was no time, no space for anything else but the mission.

“Let’s get a move on,” Anakin whispered, already striding ahead, not looking back at Obi-Wan. Feeling the same urgency, Obi-Wan followed him briskly, knowing they had to pick up the pace if they were to succeed.

Two members of the Senate Guard flanked the entrance to the residence wing. Hoods of their robes drawn over their heads, Anakin and Obi-Wan strolled towards them casually, banking on that the guards would believe them to be part of the Jedi retinue. That got them close enough to mind trick the men into believing they really _were_ the Jedi staying in the palace.

The residence wing’s opulent foyer was unoccupied, the large room opening into three wide corridors that led into the guestrooms and suites. Obi-Wan could sense dozens of minds nearby and – _oh Force_ – Master Yoda was one of them. He had a mad urge to snicker; Obi-Wan felt like an errant youngling, trying to sneak into a forbidden room in the Jedi Temple. However, the thought itself was enough to sober him. The Temple was – would be – in ruins. Their home would be forever gone, if Obi-Wan failed.

Led partly by memory, partly by hunch, Obi-Wan cautiously took a peek at the corridor on his right side. It ended in old-fashioned double doors that were watched over by a pair of Senate Guards. And behind those doors – Obi-Wan could sense Palpatine. The Sith’s Force presence was subtle and unassuming, _ordinary_. It was also a lie, a masterful disguise that had managed to fool even the best of Jedi. Deceiving everyone around him for decades, scheming and preparing for war right under their noses – could that kind of man really be taken by surprise? Soon they would see…

Behind him, Anakin was so tense, Obi-Wan _felt_ him – felt that overwhelming urge to take action, to rush to the doors, yank them open and ignite his blade, felt the rough pull –

“ _No!_ ” Anakin screeched, storming around Obi-Wan, but too late –

For there was only the blinding, pulsing, tearing white. The colour of bitter failure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason this was a hard chapter to write, and I am still not completely satisfied with it. But, since I have already kept you waiting for a month, I figured I had to just get this out sooner rather than later :)


	9. Part VIII: The Slave

[BEFORE]

The boy’s eyes were open, staring at nothing. Whatever peace death had given him could not be seen on his young face; etched upon it was still the horror and the fear, and beneath it lingered a child’s genuine surprise. Even faced with a swarm of clones and the Chosen One-turned-Betrayer, the boy had not thought to die. His short life had been spent training for duty, for service, for defence – for that very moment in fact – and he still had not been able to fathom that he could be torn apart by monsters.

Anakin did comprehend. He saw. Whatever good there was in Anakin – the dazzling light that was his mother’s gentle smile, Padmé’s ringing laugh, Obi-Wan’s warm touch, real and true – was dimming and diminishing. The last moments of a dying star. The dark was too strong, the blackness of space too vast. It slithered inside him like sticky tar, squeezing through every crack and gap, suffocating and colonizing. It was Palpatine’s smug smirk, Appo’s blank obedience, the evil that festered in the hearts of men.

It was Anakin.

The darkness was met by dark. Like attracted like, and it greedily, gleefully, recognized one of its own. The beast inside Anakin, the one that lurked in the deepest, dirtiest part of him, the one he had feared – had always known – was the real him, roared in gratification, in victory. It wanted to destroy. It wanted to burn. It wanted to be free. It _wanted_.

And Anakin was torn apart.

The dark crowed with delight, when Anakin raised his lightsaber and swung the blade; the light shuddered in agony, howled in distress as his weapon struck and cut. The Temple guards’ shocked dismay roused cold satisfaction, but also deep despair. The frantic cries, soon drowned under heavy blaster fire, rang in the cavernous hall, forming both the chorus of a dark chant and the echoes of an anguished lament.

The dark was strong, it was surging it was possessing it was power it was promises of freedom salvation future and everything and all. And yet –

The light held on. It ripped at Anakin’s flesh, it sank its terrible claws in him, refusing to let go. With every hit of Anakin’s saber, it wailed louder, it burned him with shame and horror. With every kill, the light pierced him with such dreadful agony Anakin felt out of his mind, mad with hurt.

Every strike was a strike against the light, every cut was a cut to his own body, and with every kill Anakin killed himself, over and over, tore himself apart, destroyed anything there ever had been worth loving in him. He had to. He had to. _He had to_ – it was a mindless mantra, repeated and repeated until it meant nothing. Why did he have to?

His mind shied away from the details, cast a red sheen over his sight, wielded his limbs like the parts of a machine. Anakin met the blades of the Jedi, he struck them down, he threw their resisting bodies against the stone, shattering their bones. He registered how the children fell down, hit with blaster bolts. He let the clones hunt those hiding, those running.

It was only after – after it was finished, when the bodies lay motionless on the floor, when the smoke curled around the cooling flesh – that he realized he was weeping silently, eyes gritty and half-blind from tears. He found himself standing over the boy. The Padawan had fought well, had killed the clones trying to take him down and then he had rushed Anakin, so afraid and so determined and so betrayed. And Anakin had cut him down. He had killed a boy.

 _I don’t want this_ , his mind whispered, exhausted and beaten and already turning against itself. _Please, I don’t want any of this_.

_You have to, you have to, you have to, he said you have to –_

The boy’s eyes were open, clouded over with the cloak of death. Staring at nothing now. Anakin had done that.

“Lord Vader?” Appo’s cold, steady voice – every clone’s voice – came from his left side. Anakin did not turn to look at him. “Lord Sidious is waiting for your report.” The slight hum of the holoprojector was louder than any shout.

Anakin squeezed the hilt of his lightsaber so hard he was in danger of breaking the casing. Then he dropped down on one knee to hear what his Master bade him do next.

\--

[NOW]

Disorientated and disappointed, Obi-Wan struggled to his feet, afraid that the piercing white of the transition through time had blinded him. For there was only darkness, pitch black and absolute, all around him, pressing into him. Obi-Wan swayed and raised his arm, reaching for Anakin.

Someone was breathing raggedly nearby, the harsh sound cutting sharply through the dark.

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan took a hesitant step forward, outstretched hand seeking – bracing for contact. Another step, and suddenly his sight got better, the blackness turning to grey shadows, to streaks of muted light. He was not blind then. But still the pervasive feel of the dark remained, enclosing everything in a cold and suffocating embrace.

From the corner of his eye Obi-Wan noticed a vague, slumped shape, and as he turned towards it, it morphed into a familiar figure. Anakin knelt on the floor, head bowed. Tangled hair covered half of his face, while the darkness hid the rest; Obi-Wan could not see his expression.

“Anakin?” Alarmed, Obi-Wan strode across the small space to his former Padawan’s side, taking only a cursory notice of their new surroundings. The room – an antechamber? – was devoid of any furniture, the pricks of light from the wall panels revealing the shapes of the unlit space. More important than the where and the when of this new time was Anakin’ silence, his immobility, his refusal to meet Obi-Wan’s eyes. Had he been hurt in the transition? Had their failure to kill Palpatine broken what remained of his spirit?

“What is it?” Obi-Wan murmured helplessly, not knowing what he could – or should – do, his hand hovering uselessly above Anakin’s bent head. Before, he would have laid his fingers upon those messy curls without hesitation, he would have stroked the vulnerable nape of Anakin’s neck without shame. Now something held him back, something that strongly resembled fear. He did not know what or who he was afraid of.

“I had to,” Anakin muttered brokenly in between uneven breaths. “I thought I had to.” He kept his eyes lowered, and Obi-Wan realized he was not in fact motionless; his body shook, the barely visible shudders running beneath Anakin’s skin like electricity.

“What do you mean?” The dark pushed even closer, greedy and gloating, making the hairs on the back of Obi-Wan’s neck rise, quickening the beat of his heart, urging him to flee or fight. The _wrongness_ was suddenly distinct and Obi-Wan became aware that it was not coming from Anakin – it was the place they were in. The space around them emanated foulness and malice, a pervasive and perverse darkness that felt horribly personal.

Obi-Wan fought to get his own erratic breathing under control, trying to suppress the shivers racking his frame. “Anakin,” he rasped, “it’s this place.” He forced himself to press his hand on Anakin’s shoulder; instead of tearing them apart, the touch brought instant relief. Obi-Wan was not alone.

Anakin lifted his head and looked up; for a moment, as their gazes met, Obi-Wan thought he saw tears in the red-rimmed eyes. Then Anakin stood up, and Obi-Wan’s hand slid from his shoulder, falling limply away.

“Where are we?” Anakin’s voice was hoarse as he spun around, taking in what little there was to see in the gloomy room.

“I don’t know. Somewhere –” But no words could convey _what_ the place truly was. Unquestionably, it was dangerous, saturated with the dark side of the Force. It felt both ancient and new, vast and small, sprawling and contained. Obi-Wan had never been there, and yet there was something familiar there, the threads of a half-forgotten memory or a suppressed nightmare.

They stood in silence for a moment, reluctant to venture outside the small chamber physically or mentally. However, they could hardly stay put, when they knew nothing about the time and the place they were in. Just as Obi-Wan took a deep breath, ready to explore their surroundings through the Force, he sensed Anakin do the same. The motion second nature by now, Obi-Wan extended his consciousness further, seeking knowledge of what lay beyond the little room. It seemed to take an age, but in truth lasted merely a few seconds.

Thoroughly repulsed, Obi-Wan withdrew from the task, rubbing at his throbbing temple. Anakin was watching him, clearly also finished with his own effort. He looked like he had enjoyed it as much as Obi-Wan had.

“There are people here.” Anakin’s lips settled into a severe line, his frustration evident as he brushed a few errant strands of hair impatiently from his face. “But I don’t – I can’t get a clear read on them or this place, it’s…”

“Muddled,” Obi-Wan added, knowing exactly what Anakin meant. The dark muffled and covered the individual minds, hid any distinct personality or motive in uniformity, in the stifling, overwhelming darkness. Knowing there was nothing for it but to take the risk, Obi-Wan moved to one of the doors. He was fairly certain that the space it led to was unoccupied.

“Obi-Wan.” Anakin’s anxious voice arrested Obi-Wan’s hand before he could press the door’s control switch. Uncertainty, dread and turmoil were trickling through Anakin’s shields, bleeding like blood from an open, persistent wound, a slash of red against black.

Obi-Wan waited, but Anakin did not say anything else. Silence stretched between them once more. Obi-Wan wondered if they would have been in the mess they now were in, had they learned to speak to each other with something other than aborted words and half-sentences.

Not willing to give in to his own hesitation, Obi-Wan opened the door. The space that spread out before him was as empty as the antechamber, designed with the same angular, harsh lines. But it was much bigger, a tall cavernous hall that was cleaved in half by a metallic walkway, reddish light spilling in from an enormous viewport on one side.

Obi-Wan stepped onto the walkway, on each side of him a drop of thirty meters or more into the bowels of monstrous machinery. Halfway through the room, the bridge widened and formed a perfect circle, a platform from where one had a clear view of the planet outside, of the red lava that ran across the blackened plane under ash-grey sky. Obi-Wan was cold, yet the hall glowed with red-black-hot, with the inextinguishable embers of some hellish fire.

“Mustafar,” Anakin sighed, not sounding terribly surprised. He had followed Obi-Wan onto the walkway and now stood next to him on the platform, gazing out of the viewport. “After the…Temple…he wanted me to come here and wipe out the Separatist leaders.”

Was that the reason the holocron had brought them to that place? Was the Separatist Council there right at that very moment? The penetrating dark certainly suggested it. Before Obi-Wan could ponder that question further, he was unceremoniously proven to be utterly wrong.

At the other end of the walkway, a door swished open. Something – a machine, a man, _a monster_ – filled the doorway, a hulking form in black armour and cape, head entirely covered by a helmet with a grotesque mask. The dark surged around him possessively, a perfect storm of hate and pain.

The Sith – and he _was_ a Sith, there was no doubt about it – took a step forward, his loud mechanical breathing the only sound in the hall until the hiss of an igniting lightsaber. Obi-Wan was surprised to see it was his own blue blade that cut through the shadows. He could not remember when he had last drawn his weapon without realizing, answering a threat quite without a conscious decision to do so.

“Lord Vader?” Only now Obi-Wan noticed the human male that stood behind the Sith, some kind of officer judging by his black uniform. The man sounded apprehensive, more afraid of his lord than of the sudden mysterious appearance of the Jedi.

“ _You_ ,” Anakin gasped from somewhere behind Obi-Wan, his sharp anguish pricking at Obi-Wan’s mind. With a sudden terrible rush of remembrance, Obi-Wan recognized the name. _Vader_. Palpatine had called Anakin _Vader_ in that horrible security recording Obi-Wan had watched.

Vader – no, future-Anakin – ignited his lightsaber, the red blade reflected in the empty, black eye sockets of the mask. “Out!” He bellowed to the cowering man behind him. “Secure the fortress and see to it that none can leave or enter.” And then the door whooshed closed, leaving the Sith alone with Obi-Wan and Anakin.

“This is a Jedi trick,” Vader said as he took another step forward, approaching them carefully despite all of his malice. “A desperate attempt by a feeble man to act his vengeance, to prove that he is once again relevant, that he isn’t utterly lost, that his fallen Order isn’t broken, _dead_.”

“No,” Obi-Wan exhaled, “this is the Force.” He had thought he had already seen everything possible in the past and in the future, but the sight of the hate-filled Sith left his mind reeling. Even after witnessing the carnage of the Temple, it was hard to fathom that… _thing_ could be his former Padawan.

Vader took another long stride forward, voice full of contempt and rage. “You are a fool to come here of all places – you may have brought me low here, cut my limbs and watched me burn, but since then this place has been mine. I own the dark here, I sought it and made it mine. There is no victory for you here old man.”

The words were incomprehensible. It seemed impossible that Obi-Wan could have ever done that which Vader accused him of.

“ _You stupid druk_ ,” Anakin suddenly hissed, stepping partly in front of Obi-Wan. He looked livid. “You own _nothing_.”

The air was thick with heavy tension, with imminent threat. Obi-Wan knew they were strategically in a very difficult position, the walkway limiting their movements. They could only retreat back to the way they had come, and that route would surely soon be blocked by Vader’s troops. If they didn’t move soon, they would be trapped.

Vader looked at his younger self, his hatred swelling with thick fear. “Whatever visions you conjure up Kenobi, they cannot touch me.”

“Want to bet?” Anakin spat and lightning-quick ignited his blade, rushing to meet Vader.

“ _Anakin!_ ” Obi-Wan cried out, suddenly uncommonly afraid.

“You karking idiot! You had everything! And now you have nothing – _you are nothing_! You are a monster!” Anakin screamed, his blue blade clashing with Vader’s red. The Sith howled like a wounded beast, surprised that the phantom turned out to be flesh and blood.

“Traitor! Murderer!” Anakin struck again and again, slashing his blade against Vader’s with a frenzied, blind rage. He managed to drive the Sith a few steps backwards, but Obi-Wan could see all too clearly the upper hand was only temporary. Anakin’s fighting was not near enough his best; he was all mindless anger and disgust, his movements furious and careless.

Obi-Wan dashed to help him, although he knew his options were limited. There was no room for Obi-Wan to manoeuvre, to move against Vader simultaneously with Anakin. The risk of accidentally wounding Anakin was too great, particularly when they were so out of sync. Their bond closed, Obi-Wan was unable to sense his former apprentice’s movements, and even anticipating them was difficult because of Anakin’s reckless, unpredictable moves.

Anakin swore incoherently, his weapon’s arc too wide; Vader countered it with a vicious slash of his blade, at the same time smashing his fist brutally against the side of Anakin’s head. Obi-Wan directed a Force push towards Vader, just as the Sith attempted to plunge his lightsaber into Anakin’s unprotected side, and both combatants stumbled; Anakin fell to his knees, while Vader skidded backwards.

Obi-Wan’s whole arm shook as his saber met Vader’s, his soul trembling under the gaze of the man in the abhorrent mask. Vader’s hate was suffocating and terrible, infinitely worse than what Obi-Wan had ever felt from Anakin. He was also impossibly strong; Obi-Wan was thrown back with a dark rush of power, managing just barely to keep himself from being flung down upon the deadly machinery.

Despite the sharp twinge from hitting the metallic walkway, Obi-Wan hastened to clamber up, keeping a tight hold on his lightsaber. Moving back into a defensive position, the sight that met him arrested his breath, jolted his heart into a painful beat. Vader had lifted Anakin with the Force and was keeping Obi-Wan’s former Padawan suspended in the air, savagely choking him. The red blade was alarmingly close to Anakin’s chest.

“Stop!” The shout was out of his mouth before Obi-Wan had even thought of it. Anakin’s arms were hanging limply by his sides, his weapon laying under his swaying feet. Terror clawed at Obi-Wan’s rational mind, slowly eroding his composure.

“ _I hate you_ ,” Vader proclaimed with a deep and terrible conviction; Obi-Wan was certain the words were meant for them both. Vader was an exposed nerve of endless pain, a mass of rage, a scream of loss – completely a slave of the dark. Seeing it, Obi-Wan had only pity and regret in his heart for the Sith. For Vader, everything was too late. But it was not yet too late for Anakin.

“I know,” Obi-Wan said calmly. “I’m so sorry. I failed you, Anakin.”

“ _Anakin is dead!_ ” Vader screeched in a mindless fury, his old Master’s words shattering his concentration – taking advantage of the Sith’s unbalance, Obi-Wan acted in the blink of an eye, and with all of his skill and will, he pushed Vader’s ignited lightsaber towards the black-armoured chest. Vader bellowed in surprise and pain as the blade burned him, and Anakin was dropped onto the walkway in an unconscious heap. Obi-Wan was already rushing forward, another Force push throwing Vader aside and finally, off the bridge.

Frantically, Obi-Wan heaved Anakin to his feet, swinging his heavy body across Obi-Wan’s back. Vader had managed to stop his fall and was clinging to the ledge with only one hand. Obi-Wan had no desire to stay and see how quickly the Sith would get himself back up to the walkway, so he called Anakin’s lightsaber to his hand even as he was already loping towards the nearest exit.

Vader’s scream of rage followed him out the door.


	10. Part IX: The Wounded

[BEFORE]

_You have done well, my new apprentice. Now, Lord Vader, go and bring peace to the Empire._

Palpatine’s praise sickened him, thickening the bile already sitting heavy in the pit of his stomach as Anakin strode towards the nearest exit, needing to be out of the partly burning Temple with a visceral sense of desperation. He couldn’t stand to be there anymore, with all those empty dead eyes watching him, following him.

Appo was still tagging along, keeping pace right on the heels of Anakin, although Anakin certainly had no use for the clone. He would fly to Mustafar by himself and deal with the Separatist leaders alone. He didn’t need any help with killing. He had well and truly mastered that talent if nothing else.

But first – Obi-Wan.

Anakin had no idea what he would say to Obi-Wan, how he could ever explain what had happened, what Anakin had had to do to keep him safe. Were there right words – _any_ words – to make him understand? However, Anakin would have to try to find them soon, before Obi-Wan learnt of it all and did something drastic.

Anakin stopped, cursing himself profusely. Appo immediately came to a sharp halt next to him. “Any news of the 212th?”

He should have made sure that Obi-Wan and his battalion remained safe and out of any action before Anakin himself could explain the situation, could join them and make Obi-Wan see sense, but since everything that had taken place in Palpatine’s office, his thoughts had been in disarray. It was an immense struggle to order his muddled and warring thoughts into anything that resembled a coherent plan or a sound strategy.

“Yes, sir. Almost all the troops have been transported back into the _Vigilance_. Commander Cody estimates that they are ready to leave Utapau in short order.”

“What about General Kenobi?” Anakin asked, trying not to reveal how anxious he really was about the answer. Could Obi-Wan feel what had happened to the other Jedi? Could he have tried to contact the Temple already?

“Kenobi was shot down and fell into one of the sinkholes. They were unable to recover his body, but no-one could have survived the fall.” Appo’s voice was matter-of-fact, like he was just giving an ordinary report, not destroying what little remained of Anakin’s soul.

Despite all that had already happened, it took Anakin a beat longer than it should have to realize just _who_ had shot Obi-Wan. Not the droids, but the clones. Obi-Wan’s own men. He had been betrayed. _Anakin_ had been deceived. As always, the tidal wave of surging rage was a welcome distraction; a familiar ally that helped Anakin push the desolate grief aside, take the focus away from the immense despair.

“Sir?” Whatever Appo saw in Anakin’s face, it made him take a hasty step backwards. Anakin would have liked to have seen the eyes beneath the helmet, when his lightsaber pierced the clone’s chest, when it easily burned through flesh and bone. Appo’s alarm and pain, echoing in the Force, were much too fleeting to give Anakin any satisfaction.

The armour-clad body thudded heavily to the floor, a blackened scorch mark right over the dead heart. Cody would not get so quick a death; Anakin would make sure of that. He didn’t give the body a second glance as he strode away, did not slow his steps as he passed a couple of startled clone troopers, snarling, “Tell Vaughn he has been promoted.”

His hate, the searing inferno, had turned into a freezing fire instead. A cold fury that edged on numbness. Palpatine had lied to him. The Sith had never meant to spare Obi-Wan. Of course he hadn’t. Anakin should have known that – he should have – he should –

Obi-Wan. _Obi-Wan_.

But Anakin could not think about him, could not think about his voice and his smile and his eyes, could not think about him dying, or Anakin would never take another step forward, would never draw another breath, and he had to, a few more, to make sure that Padmé was safe, that she was still –

One thing remained to Anakin. Only one. All other dreams and loves and futures were gone.

\--

[NOW]

“Anakin.”

Obi-Wan brushed the tangled hairs away from Anakin’s pale face, leaving his palm to rest against the clammy forehead. Anakin’s eyelids fluttered, but he did not open his eyes. He was breathing far too laboriously for Obi-Wan’s liking, each intake of air a painful rasp that squeezed Obi-Wan’s heart. And yet each halting breath was a gift; Obi-Wan could feel how Anakin’s chest rose and fell, and he tightened his hold on Anakin, drawing his former apprentice to lean more fully against him.

“Another fine mess we are in,” Obi-Wan murmured, stroking Anakin’s cheek. “I still don’t know how we manage to get into these things. I, of course, blame this entirely on you, just so you know.”

Anakin did not answer. The small room stayed silent, only the distant clangs and bangs coming from behind the shut door revealing that they were not alone. The space was hardly an ideal defensible spot, but it had been the best from a short selection of bad and worse options. He had been unable to get them out of the fortress with Anakin unconscious; the only option really had been to barricade them inside an unoccupied room, hoping that the holocron would transport them away sooner rather than later.

Obi-Wan could sense the group of men, who had taken positions near the jammed door. He had destroyed the door controls with his saber and had piled up the biggest pieces of furniture in the way, but knew those obstacles would not delay the troops for long. He was surprised that they had not yet started cutting through the door. The men seemed confused and anxious; perhaps they were waiting orders from Vader – but where was the Sith?

Maybe Obi-Wan had injured Vader more seriously than he had first thought, damaged the suit that the Sith clearly needed to function. It was hard to tell just where the man was, only that he was still alive, for the pervasive dark continued to press against Obi-Wan’s defences. The fortress and the rock beneath and Vader were all inseparable, seeping oppression and malice, feeding each other. However, in that moment, Obi-Wan found that the threat of the Sith, the horrible reality of the hate-filled future-Anakin, mattered very little. What mattered was the Anakin he had in his arms, still unconscious and breathing shallowly.

Letting his awareness of Vader and the troops go, Obi-Wan focused fully on Anakin. Both of their lightsabers on the floor next to him, he kept his palm on Anakin’s forehead, while the fingers of his other hand came to press gently against Anakin’s chest. Determined, Obi-Wan concentrated on the light side of the Force, on the living, pulsing energy between them and sent it towards Anakin, willing it to heal the swollen throat and the bruised larynx, soothe the pain and mend any hurt.

The surge of healing Force made Anakin flinch violently, his body shuddering as in the grips of freezing cold. Obi-Wan feared that the darkness in Anakin would try to repel his efforts, but instead his former apprentice reached for the warm pulse hungrily, grasping at the Force with desperate mental exertion. The unyielding barrier between their bond was cracking, the impenetrable wall slowly losing its solidity, the connection between them inching open. Finally, after so long, Anakin was _there_ , so close, and Obi-Wan could feel him.

There was so much pain and guilt and anger in Obi-Wan’s Padawan, it would have brought even the strongest of men to their knees. But oh, there were also glimpses of the Anakin Obi-Wan knew and loved, there were glimmers of stubbornness and strength, remnants of impulsive selflessness, traces of an affectionate and loving mind.

Obi-Wan could have wept from relief. Anakin was not completely lost to the dark yet; what Obi-Wan had wished and hoped and yearned for with all his being had been granted to him against all odds. The indisputable confirmation of the light that still clung to Anakin eased one heavy burden Obi-Wan had carried. He had been right to hold on to Anakin. It may have been born from a selfish need, but for this once, Obi-Wan had done something right in refusing to make Anakin his enemy.

There was hope for him yet – there was hope for them both.

_Anakin._

Obi-Wan smoothed the ragged edges of the bond, carefully attending to the frayed and torn strands. Their bond’s dishevelled, neglected state was distressing. It would take a lot of work to repair the damage.

_Anakin, can you hear me?_

He brushed tendrils of dark aside, the gossamer strands glowing brighter. Deliberately, he sought to keep his own emotions as placid and harmless as possible, mindful that any sudden, too strong action or feeling could potentially scare away his elusive quarry.

_Padawan, I’m here._

A few of the strands were cut completely, mere dull and shrivelled strings without an anchor. Obi-Wan gathered those to him, mournfully stroking them before letting them go. The dead threads were beyond healing, but luckily more than enough strands had survived for the bond to grow one day back to its previous strength.

_Master?_

It was just the smallest of whispers inside his mind, timid and hesitant. The word was one Obi-Wan had heard innumerable times in his life, and yet it had never sounded like this: full of such aching longing and keen want.

_Yes, I’m here. It’s time to wake up now, Anakin._

With some regret, Obi-Wan steered Anakin closer to consciousness, guiding them both to the boundary of the mental and the physical. Surrounded by hostile troops, they could not afford to linger in the healing warmth of the Force any longer, no matter how much they both still needed it to recover, or how tempting it was to just bask in the glow of their bond.

They opened their eyes. Obi-Wan’s chest rose and fell with calm breaths, and Anakin’s chest rose and fell with him in the same even rhythm. Obi-Wan’s fingers were still pressed against Anakin’s heart, but Anakin’s hand now covered them, as if trying to prevent Obi-Wan from moving his hand away.

A flash of sharp remorse and shame raced through the bond, until all emotions were suddenly muffled, concealed. Anakin had quietened the connection, had raised a shield between them. But it was not the terrible hollow emptiness of before, and Obi-Wan could still feel their bond, could feel Anakin at the other end. The steel girder had not come back up, only a common wall of privacy and solitude. Obi-Wan did not try to break through it, realizing they both needed time and space to get used to the renewed connection.

And besides, Anakin’s hand had yet to let go of his own. 

“ _Mast_ – whe..re…a…are…we?” Anakin’s voice was raspy, sounding like every word was dragged through thick smoke.

“Still in Mustafar, I’m afraid.”

“What…” Anakin gestured with his free hand towards the heap of miscellaneous furniture laying in front of the door. The simple movement seemed to take an inordinate amount of his strength.

Obi-Wan looked at the motley selection of filing cabinets, chairs and a large desk, grimacing. “Not the most elegant of barriers, but it should slow them down and give us some cover. Which reminds me – we need to ditch this party. I think we have overstayed our welcome.” The hallway outside the room was too quiet; the men in there were expectant, sharp, tense.

“You think?” Anakin grunted as Obi-Wan reluctantly shifted himself from behind Anakin, easing his Padawan to sit against the wall with care. One point of contact remained – Anakin was still keeping Obi-Wan’s hand tightly beneath his own.

“Can you move?” Obi-Wan examined Anakin’s eyes, seeking for any sign of concussion or reduced level of consciousness. The black pupils were perhaps a little larger than normally, but his former apprentice’s gaze was focused, lacking the haziness of the badly injured.

“If I must,” Anakin whispered hoarsely, turning his eyes away from Obi-Wan.

_You should leave me._

Obi-Wan pressed his palm more firmly against Anakin’s heart. “Then you must.”

_We go together, or not at all._

Anakin did not raise more objections, which was just as well, for they had no time for that kind of nonsense. He let Obi-Wan draw his hand away and took hold of the saber Obi-Wan offered him.

Obi-Wan began to work on their escape, and as steadily as he could, he started to carve a circle in the ceiling, having already earlier picked out the best spot for it. His lightsaber went easily through the structure, pieces of molten metal falling down with a loud clang. It was as if the troops had merely been waiting for that very action; the hiss of Obi-Wan’s saber was almost immediately joined by the sounds of the men beginning to cut through the door. The respite was over.

Anakin struggled to his feet, bracing his hand against the wall. The cut on the door widened alarmingly quickly, red-yellow sparks flying over the furniture. Anakin’s face twisted into a fierce scowl, brows drawn together in determination. “They are almost through.”

“I’m doing this as fast as I can,” Obi-Wan grumbled, but quickened his pace.

“Faster would be _better_.” Anakin’s rough voice lacked the volume of a shout, but equaled it in intensity.

The last big piece of metal thudded down, the man-sized hole into the air duct ready. “You were saying?” Obi-Wan jibed, already turning to face the door in a defensive stance. He nodded towards the opening in the ceiling. “Get going!” 

Just as the first blaster shot hit the wall behind them, Anakin gathered the Force to him and jumped. More shots streaked over and around the barrier, but they went so wide from their intended targets that Obi-Wan did not bother to try to deflect them. Anakin was grunting as he clung to the edge of the hole with both hands, slowly pulling himself up.

The pile of furniture shook ominously, and then started to topple with a crash.

“Faster _would_ be better!” Obi-Wan gave his apprentice a none too gentle Force push; Anakin yelped as he was suddenly unceremoniously shoved upwards. Armour-clad troops forced their way into the room, their aim much better now that their sight was unobstructed. However, even a dozen of them were hardly a match for a Jedi with a lightsaber, and their armour seemed considerably weaker than the clone armour. One redirected blaster shot was enough to bring a soldier down.

What did present a slight problem was that a fallen trooper was quickly replaced by another, and Obi-Wan could not deflect the multiple shots _and_ at the same time get himself into the air duct. At least not without leaving himself vulnerable for a few seconds too long. Anakin was already in the small crawlspace, peering anxiously down on Obi-Wan.

“Come closer!” Anakin shouted hoarsely, struggling to make his voice heard over the firefight. “Get ready!”

With a flash of sudden insight, it dawned on Obi-Wan what Anakin planned to do; in equal parts incredulous and resigned, he dashed near to the opening, readying himself for the jump. Anakin was hanging upside down, almost half-way out of the air duct, and with one arm hurled something in a perfect, long arc straight at the approaching soldiers.

The explosive device seemed to detonate on impact – the whole room shook and quaked, the deafening boom and the wave of heat following Obi-Wan as he launched himself into the air, reaching for the escape route. Anakin had just managed to move out of the way; Obi-Wan still bumped into him, when he hauled himself inside the cramped crawlspace.

“I knew those would come handy,” Anakin muttered.

Obi-Wan coughed, the acrid smoke coming from the room below irritating his throat. “You could have brought the whole ceiling down.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t.”

“I don’t disagree,” Obi-Wan conceded. As usual, Anakin’s _inspired_ actions made Obi-Wan both appalled _and_ proud. Obi-Wan most certainly did not admit that any credit belonged to him – he definitely hadn’t taught Anakin to blow things up so recklessly. Case in point: The Trade Federation battleship the boy had destroyed, when he had been _nine_.

Anakin started to crawl forward, his shoulders and head slamming against the confines of the tight space. Obi-Wan followed, hoping that they wouldn’t have to spend long in the air duct. Despite the alarming frequency he found himself crammed into dark and dingy crawlspaces, Obi-Wan didn’t actually enjoy creeping in them.

“How do we always end up in these?” Anakin grumbled, moving at a snail’s pace. “Why isn’t there ever a nice, wide service tunnel? This is your fault, Master. I know it is.”

“If you say so,” Obi-Wan said gravely, “my too tall apprentice.” He had not smiled so wide since – since seemingly a lifetime ago.

And when he finally recognized the sharp yank of the holocron, Obi-Wan did not feel trepidation or desperation, only cautious hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the chapter begun with a murder and ended in a slightly better note. Yay, progress :D


End file.
